Kindred Spirits
by berelinde
Summary: Iain Hawke's journal. Chapter 37: Bon Voyage. The long-awaited expedition begins, despite delays. Eventual Anders X M!Hawke
1. Chapter 1: Sanctum of Healing

_AN: This fanfic makes no claims of accurate characterization of game personae or portrayal of game events. Dragon Age II and all characters except Iain are owned by BioWare. Iain is on loan... kind of. Where direct quotations are used in place of paraphrases or original dialogue, the intent is to be as faithful as possible to the original work. In no way should the inclusion of direct quotations be construed as an attempt to claim credit for the work and talent of another. Later chapters will feature exclusively original dialogue, but I thought it was important to take less liberties with the early material. Also, I'm trying to get back into writing after a long, long break. If you're bored by a rehash of what's been covered a thousand times, feel free to skip ahead to Chapter 4. Reviews welcome, of course, even the ones that say "This sucks."_

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><p>9:31 Dragon, 2 Guardian: The Hanged Man, Lowtown<p>

I had to admit it. I was lost. Eventually, I would learn the twists and turns of the Undercity, but it was not going to be today. If it was still day. Very little light reached the tunnels through the decrepit ventilation shafts, and the little that made it down that far served only to brighten the chokedamp swirling lazily around our ankles.

"You know what I like about the Undercity?" Varric's voice cut through the dimness, along with the welcome snick of steel on flint. "Absolutely nothing."

The spark caught, and a moment later, we were bathed in the cheery orange glow of torchlight. Varric raised the torch a bit, then passed it off to Carver.

"Here, Junior," he said. "I'll just singe your nose-hairs if I keep it."

"I don't want it!" Carver protested. "I'm not the one moaning about the dark. Besides, I might have to fight something."

"Oh, just give it to Iain, Carver," Aveline said wearily. "We might as well get this over with."

"Hey, Junior," Varric interrupted, "if you're done complaining, you can put your shoulder to this door. It's rusted since the last time I was down here."

"Are you sure you know where you're going?" Carver asked, as if on cue. He had repeated that question every time we came to a crossroads, a doorway, or any other landmark that made Varric pause to get his bearings."

"Not exactly, no," the dwarf admitted casually, "but Darktown isn't that big. And besides, these are old mining tunnels. They all join up somewhere."

I braced myself for the inevitable bickering that was bound follow Varric's statement. From the moment they met, two days ago now, my brother and Varric seemed determined to annoy each other. More precisely, Varric seemed intent on needling Carver. He did it well, too. Carver's pride was a delicate thing in spiky armor, but Varric always managed to find the gaps. I would have put a stop to it at once if there were any malice in Varric's teasing, but all the dwarf did was play on Carver's vanity... and his wounded indignation at being a younger brother. If Varric set Carver up and left him sputtering once or twice, it was probably for his own good. I did feel a bit disloyal for enjoying Carver's embarrassment as much as I did, but not much.

The expected volley of barbs and counter-barbs never came.

"Is that it up ahead?" Aveline interrupted. "I think there's a lantern on the left, up the stairs."

"See!" Varric said smugly. "I told you I knew where I was."

"You did not!" Carver countered. "You wanted me to open that door. It's probably to someone's house, too. Wouldn't that have been wonderful, us walking in on some old biddy sitting down to tea?"

"That's enough," Aveline barked, cutting their argument short. She had less patience with their antics than I did, I guess. "Let's do what we came here to do and get out."

The lantern Aveline saw turned out to be a pair of cheap, smoky lamps, one on either side of a wooden door. Without thinking, I went in. I probably should have knocked.

The space behind the door was frugally lit, but after the darkness of the passage, it looked like a chantry, blazing with light. A tall blond man leaned over the bloody body of a child, his glowing hands outstretched. Lirene did say that the healer was a mage. The glow faded and the child on the table sat up, gulping air as if he were taking his first breath. The healer barely knew it. He turned away, obviously sagging with the exhaustion of a spell that was more demanding than he could handle comfortably.

Abruptly, the mage tensed and turned to face us, his hand raised in a warding-off gesture.

"I have made this place a sanctum of healing and salvation," he said, his voice stern. "Why do you threaten it?"

"I'm just here to talk -" I began, but Varric interrupted me.

"We're interested in getting into the Deep Roads. Rumor has it that you were a Warden. Do you know a way?"

This did nothing to decrease the healer's apprehension.

"Did the Wardens send you to bring me back?" he asked a question, but it was more of an accusation. "I'm not going. Those bastards made me get rid of my cat."

The healer paused while the rest of us just blinked at him.

"Poor Ser Pounce-a-lot," the mage said. "He hated the Deep Roads."

I recovered first.

"You had a cat named Ser Pounce-a-lot?" I asked. "In the Deep Roads?"

It was not the most intelligent question I have ever asked, but the healer's words had startled me. I don't know what I expected Anders to be like, but a kitten-toting Deep Roads delver was not it.

"He was a gift," Anders replied defensively, "a noble beast. Almost got ripped in half by a genlock once."

A hint of a smile appeared on the healer's lips in recollection of his pet's heroics. "Swatted the bugger on the nose. Drew blood, too!" The smile vanished. "The blighted Wardens said he made me too soft. I had to give him to a friend in Amaranthine."

Presumably, this friend would not feel threatened by owning a cat who had once attacked darkspawn. Not that I was one to talk. My mabari, Peaches, follows me into battle all the time. Then again, Peaches is a war dog, not a tabby mouser. One of these days, I will have to get Carver to tell me why he bursts out laughing whenever I call the dog. It may not be the most ferocious-sounding name for a dog, but it is far from the most ridiculous name I've heard, and Peaches is usually very friendly. Aggressively so, in fact.

But enough about Peaches. We still needed information from the Warden. Since he seemed chatty, I decided to try to win him over with conversation.

"I always thought that joining the Wardens was for life," I ventured.

"That's only partly true," he answered. "The hopelessly tainted by the darkspawn and the plagued by nightmares about the archdemon parts don't go away. But it turns out that if you hide well, you don't have to wear the uniform or go to the parties."

I don't know if it was intended or not, but that put an end to the conversational approach. What could I say after that?

"I'm part of an expedition into the Deep Roads," I said at last. "Any information you have could save people's lives."

"I will die a happy man if I never think about the blighted Deep Roads again," Anders said, frowning. "You can't imagine what I've come through to get here. I'm not interested -"

I was almost resigned to going away empty-handed, but once more, Anders changed tack.

"Although..." he began again. "A favor for a favor. Does that sound like a fair deal? You help me, I'll help you."

Those were terms I could accept. After all, I had served a year in Meeran's miserable Red Iron, and if that was not selling my integrity, what would be? Some of the jobs Carver and I did for them made me wish I had sold myself to the Blooming Rose instead, but Carver was quick to point out that I was not handsome enough for that, the one time I complained about the Red Iron in his presence. Carver had some kind of sick admiration for Meeran. I tried not to think about it. Or the Blooming Rose. Carver went there all the time, I knew, but I could not bring myself to do it. As a mage, I had learned from an early age not to trust others. The idea of letting my guard down enough to disrobe in front of another person terrified me. I was a coward. And a virgin. Carver mocked me mercilessly.

"Help my expedition reach the Deep Roads and I'll do whatever you need." As I said. I had already done worse for less.

"You don't ask my terms?" Anders asked incredulously. "What if I were asking for the Knight-Commander's head on a spike?"

"Is that what you ask?" I replied, surprised once more.

"You decide," he said coldly. "I have a Warden map of the depths in this area, but there's a price."

He turned away from me and ran his clean, long-fingered hands over the table where the boy had lain before, as if considering how much to tell me.

"I came to Kirkwall to aid a friend," he said, turning to face me again. "A mage. A prisoner in the wretched Gallows. The templars learned of my plans to free him. Help me bring him safely past them and you shall have your maps."

The full weight of what he was asking sank in. I was fortunate to have had a Circle-trained father who knew how to live as an apostate. Bethany and I learned how to control our magic, true, but we also learned when to run. If Anders's friend had been imprisoned in the Gallows his entire life, he might not be prepared for the world outside it.

"You want to make your friend an apostate?" I asked. I intended only to ask if Anders had thoroughly considered what this might mean for his friend, but Anders seemed to misunderstand.

"That's such a weighted term," Anders protested."Yes. Andraste said that magic should serve man, not rule him, but I've yet to find a mage that wants to rule anything. It goes against no will of the Maker for mages to live as free as other men."

"Forcing mages into servitude is not the way to prevent the rise of another Imperium," I agreed. We could discuss whether Anders's friend could survive as a fugitive later. For now, it was important that Anders understand that I was not arguing with him.

"That's not usually the response I get," Anders said with a slow, tentative smile. "Perhaps we will work together better than I expected."

Now that I had more of his trust, I decided to try for more information. "Tell me about your friend."

"His name is Karl Thekla," Anders said softly. "He was sent here from Ferelden when Kirkwall's Circle required new talent. His last letter said the Knight-Commander was turning the Circle into a prison. Mages are locked in their cells, refused appearances at court, made Tranquil for the slightest crimes. I told him I would come."

"Are these accusations true?" I have no idea why I asked him this. It was an unnecessary question about conditions Anders could not verify. Of course, Anders believed what he was telling me, but faith was not the same as corroboration.

"Ask any mage in Kirkwall," he insisted. "Over a dozen were made Tranquil just this year. The more people you ask, the worse the rumors become."

Yes, Anders, I thought, though I did not say it. That is the nature of rumors. Still, I admired his conviction.

"I would help any mage in such circumstances," I reassured him, "map or no."

"Better make this good," Carver muttered. "We're risking a lot if we anger the templars."

I often found myself wishing that I had left Carver at home. He resented my leadership, he questioned orders, and he disapproved of just about everything I did. But, despite... or perhaps because of... his tendency to irritate me, I preferred to have him with me. Family is family. Besides, every once in a while, he was right.

"I welcome your aid," Anders said, shyly extending his hand. "I have already sent word for Karl to meet me in the Chantry tonight. Join us there and we'll ensure that no matter who is with him, we all walk away free."

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><p>I could feel Carver's eyes on my back all the way back to the Hanged Man. He did not approve of this plan, and I would probably hear why at great length once we were safely back in Varric's suite, but he would not oppose me. He knew we needed those maps.<p>

As expected, Carver started in on me immediately, almost before the first round of drinks arrived.

"You were quick enough to agree to that mage's terms," he complained. "I'm surprised you didn't hop into bed with him to sweeten the deal."

"And here I thought I was too repulsive for that kind of thing," I countered. "They're probably looking for new talent at the Blooming Rose, if you think that's a better way for me to raise the coin."

"Oh, that'd be good," Carver laughed. "Iain with a sack over his head and his ass -"

"That's enough, Carver," Aveline scolded. "Your brother is fine."

"Ah, let him go," I said affably. "His form always improves after a good row, and I need him at his best tonight, if there's any trouble."

"Is this all a joke to you, Iain?" Carver all but spat.

"No, Carver," I sighed. "I know what's at stake as well as you. There's nothing we can do about it, though, so getting all excited won't help."

"So, you're just going to walk in blindly and say 'Excuse me, Ser Templar, but we're -'" Carver never got to finish his sentence. Varric put a hand on his arm.

"Not that I mind the entertainment," he said quietly, "but we do get templars in here sometimes. The walls are a lot thinner than you think. Besides, we'll be making it up as we go anyway. This thing can go wrong so many ways, even my cousin Vidar wouldn't take odds on it."

At that moment, the pretty barmaid, Norah, walked in with our dinner. I always get a case of the stupids when she turns up, and my growing friendship with Varric means that I see her frequently. It amuses Varric. The four of us probably could have gone our separate ways and met up later, but we would be leaving for the Chantry as soon as the sun went down. I offered to treat everyone to a meal at the Hanged Man, a decision I regretted as soon as I took my first bite. Varric, Carver and Aveline tucked in with some enthusiasm, so it might just have been me. The others have resistances to bad food that I lack. Varric takes all his meals here, and unlike my brother and Aveline, I have never eaten army food. I pushed the grease around on my plate, thought about the events of the afternoon, and penned this in my journal.

Anders. I do not know how to read him. He can be sarcastic, he showed us that much, but that does not bother me. He obviously believes in freedom for mages. As a life-long apostate, I can hardly argue with him there. Either his voice betrays everything he feels or he is very good at lying. The former seems more likely. He does not trust us. I can not fault him for that. If I were alone and exhausted in a room full of innocents when a group of heavily armed people walked in, I would not have reacted much differently. He could not have known that I am an apostate like him. I carry a staff, true, but others do, as well. Mages were not the first to discover that big, heavy sticks make effective weapons. As for the more superficial aspects of the man, there is not much to say. He is better-looking than me. Most people are. Just ask my brother. He is taller than me, and thinner. Lanky. He has a kind face. And he is Fereldan, like me. None of that says much about him, though. He is the first mage I have met who is not a blood relative. I am curious.

"How long before the streets empty out?" I asked Varric.

"I'd give it a couple more hours, at least," the dwarf said around a mouthful of bread. "You in a hurry?"

"I want it over with," I said.

"Nervous, Hawke?" he asked with a grin.

"Nah," I lied. "Religious types give me a rash."

Varric just laughed and passed me the pitcher of ale. I sent it on to Carver. It was probably just nerves, but even the ale tasted wrong. Whatever is going to happen, it is going to be big.


	2. Chapter 2: Tranquility

_AN: This fanfic makes no claims of accurate characterization of game personae or portrayal of game events. Dragon Age II and all characters except Iain are owned by BioWare. Iain is on loan... kind of. Where direct quotations are used in place of paraphrases or original dialogue, the intent is to be as faithful as possible to the original work. In no way should the inclusion of direct quotations be construed as an attempt to claim credit for the work and talent of another. Later chapters will feature exclusively original dialogue, but I thought it was important to take less liberties with the early material._

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><p>9:31 Dragon, 3 Guardian (pre-dawn): Gamlen's hovel, Lowtown<p>

Even Kirkwall held its breath as we closed in on the Chantry. While streets would not usually have been as crowded as they were during the day, we should have passed a few late-working laborers, or at the very least, revelers, harlots, and thugs. Instead, we saw no one, not even a guard.

Anders was leaning against a wall outside the Chantry. The torchlight cast eerie shadows on his face, making him look otherworldly.

"I saw Karl go inside a few minutes ago," he said as soon as he saw us. "No templars so far. Are you ready?"

"Let's go."

"Alright," he said. "I'll handle the talking. You watch for templars."

All I could do was shrug and follow him into the Chantry. How much talking would he have to do? Karl did know why he was here. If he had reservations about leaving the confines of the Circle, he could have declined Anders's invitation.

Something did make me uneasy, though. If the templars locked mages in their cells, how had Karl arranged to leave the Gallows? Were mages allowed midnight excursions into Hightown to visit the Chantry? Unsupervised? Also, the Chantry was supposed to be closed at night, yet there were no locks on the door. Were the Sisters and Mothers so fearless? Even if they cared nothing for their own safety, the plate and furnishings within these walls were worth thousands. And why was the place so well lit? The walls were festooned with highly flammable tapestries, but light blazed from every sconce and from clusters of fat candles at the base of every pillar. Never mind the considerable risk of fire, was the Maker so generous that His servants could burn money on lighting that no one would need? Alarms rang in my head, but I knew not what to make of them.

In Kirkwall, unlike Ferelden, the clergy lived in the temples. They had comfortably furnished apartments set up on the upper tier, complete with beds, desks, dining areas, everything that would be required to make the place feel homey. As homey as a palatial stone hall under the oversight of an enormous bronze statue of the Maker could possibly feel, that is. Tonight, apparently, the staff in its entirety was spending the night elsewhere. All we found was Karl.

Even from the back, he was older than I thought he would be. I expected a youth, or at most, a mage Anders's own age. Someone young enough to make a fresh start somewhere else. Well, under desperate enough circumstances, I suppose people of any age can flee one life and begin another. My mother had done it. In any case, I did not expect the slightly bowed shoulders and iron-grey head of the man standing with his back to us.

"Anders, I know you too well," the man said, his voice calm and heavy, "I knew you would never give up."

"What's wrong?" Anders asked, taking a step toward Karl. "Why are you talking like -"

Karl turned to face us. Anders and I both recoiled at the sunburst-brand on his forehead. Lyrium. Karl was Tranquil.

"I was too rebellious," he said. "Like you. The templars knew that I had to be... made an example of."

"No!" Anders gasped.

"How else will mages ever master themselves?" Karl asked. "You'll understand, Anders. As soon as the templars teach you to control yourself."

Karl raised his head, projecting his voice beyond us... behind us. Half a dozen templars stood there, their weapons drawn.

"This is the apostate." It was Anders's death knell, and mine, unless we could escape.

"NO!" Anders boomed. His voice. It was deeper, like the voice we heard in his clinic, when first he addressed us. Something was happening to him. He collapsed, covering most of his face with his hands. Cracks appeared on his skin, and blue light gleamed through. The rest of his body was veiled with a kind of black aura that rose from him like smoke. He leapt to his feet and raised his hand to defy the templars. Magic sprang from his palm and from his eyes as rays of piercing blue light. The templars retreated from him... and attacked the rest of us!

Carver hurled himself at the nearest templar, screaming challenges at the templars even as he berated me for being so foolish. His heavy sword bit deep. Aveline wasted no breath on reprimands. She saved all her considerable strength for what she did best: bashing her way through everything that stood before her. Her blade served mostly to get her opponent's attention. Few who got in front of her shield lived to tell of it. Mostly, that was because her enemies were so busy avoiding her blows that they never saw Carver swooping in on them, or Varric and I targeting them from a distance, but the job got done. This time, I was too close to avoid melee entirely. The templars had closed in on us before we even knew they were there. Varric was able to break free and retreat to a safe firing distance, but I was already in the thick of it. I fought hard. It was enough. After a short, frantic battle, it was all over.

"I - Anders, what did you do?" Karl's incredulous, emotion-laden voice cut through the silence that followed the last templar's collapse. I turned to face him, not believing my own ears. "It's like you brought a piece of the Fade into this world! I had already forgotten what that feels like."

"I thought the Tranquil were cut off from the Fade forever," I stammered.

"It's like the Fade itself is inside Anders," Karl marveled, "burning like a sun."

He raised his eyes to Anders, pleading.

"Please! Kill me before I forget again! I don't know how you brought it back, but it's fading."

"Karl, no!" Anders protested. Karl was asking for the coup, and Anders knew it.

"Maybe we can find a cure," I ventured. After all, if Anders did have the Fade inside him, maybe he could transfer some to Karl, somehow.

"Can you cure a beheading?" Anders snapped. "The dreams of Tranquil mages are severed. There is nothing left of them to fix."

All evidence to the contrary, I thought, but said nothing. If there was something in Anders that could restore Karl's shattered mind even for a moment, I would have thought it worth pursuing, but Anders seemed to disagree. As host to whatever it was making Karl see colors again, figuratively speaking, Anders had the final vote. If he thought it was hopeless, who was I to contradict him? And maybe he was right. If I were Karl, would I want to exist as a statue, tormented by fleeting bouts of lucidity? No, better to end it now.

"I would rather die a mage than live as a templar puppet," Karl begged.

"I would feel the same," I agreed reluctantly. "Help him."

"I got here too late," Anders lamented. "I'm sorry, Karl. I'm so sorry."

"Now! It's fading!" Karl's voice was anguished, but when he looked up, his expression was still once more. Whatever made Karl human was gone. "Why do you look at me like that?"

I passed Anders my knife.

"Goodbye," Anders said flatly. A moment later, Karl was dead. Or what was left of him.

They say that souls pass through the Fade and return to the Maker when the bodies that contain them die. What happens to the soul of a Tranquil mage? With the Fade cut off, does it remain bound to the husk that remains, caged inside a rotting corpse for all eternity? Or are the souls of the Tranquil already free? Does the brand only keep the body from realizing that it's dead? Andraste help me, I hope I never find the answer to these questions.

"We should leave before more templars come," Anders said, interrupting my dark thoughts.

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><p>We walked back to Anders's clinic in silence. I could feel Carver's disapproval like a cold draft across the back of my neck, but if he was planning to argue with me about aything, it would have to wait. Varric said nothing, either. He simply walked quietly between Anders and me, as if shielding me with his magic-resistant dwarfiness from whatever fell powers Anders possessed. Aveline seemed content to watch and wait.<p>

The Undercity was never deserted. People always slept in doorways or prowled the darkened passages, muttering to themselves, but no one bothered us. When we reached the wooden door to his clinic, Anders turned the key in the useless iron lock and pushed the door open.

"You'll have questions," he sighed as a spark leapt from his fingertip to the wick of a lamp. He set the lamp down on an up-ended crate and waited for someone to start talking.

"That wasn't normal magic you just did, was it?" I asked. At the time, I thought it a stupid question. For all I knew, it might have been normal magic. There were whole schools of magic I knew nothing about. Hexes, for example.

"I... "Anders began, but he did not get far. "This is hard to explain. When I was in Amaranthine, I met a spirit of Justice who was trapped outside the Fade. We became friends. And he recognized the injustice that mages in Thedas face every day."

Aha. Maybe that was not such an inane question, after all. It sounded as if Anders should refer to himself in the plural.

"This spirit seems like a useful friend to have," I said diplomatically. The Chantry had very precise opinions on spirits possessing mages, but this was no time to be dogmatic. Besides, the Chantry said a great many things, especially in condemnation of mages. They were bound to be wrong about some of them. I already knew that Spirit Healers relied on beneficial Fade spirits to augment their healing powers. If Anders allowed one of them to get too close, that was probably unfortunate for Anders, but not the apocalypse that the Chantry predicted.

"He was far better to me than I have been to him," Anders explained. "To live outside the Fade, he needed a host. I offered to help him. We were going to bring justice to ever child ripped away from his mother to be sent to the Circle. But... I guess I had too much anger. Once he was inside me, he... changed."

Anders spoke as if he were recounting the death of a brother. Whatever happened between Anders and his spirit friend, neither one of them seemed to have emerged undamaged.

"This is obviously difficult for you," I said sympathetically.

"Difficult for him!" Carver interjected. "We'll be hunted for sure, now!"

I glared at my brother in an attempt to silence him, but that never worked. There was no reason to hope that it would this time. To my surprise, it did. He grunted at me, but said nothing else. I could feel Aveline's disapproval like a wet cloak across my back, but I could live with that. As long as I helped her rein in outlaws when she asked me to, she would not hold it against me if I helped a mage, here and there. And as long as I didn't do anything that looked like blood magic. I doubt either Carver or Aveline would back me if I did anything that stupid. And I would not blame them.

"I thought I was helping my friend," Anders went on, his brown eyes fixed intently on my face as if Carver had never spoken at all. At this point, I do not think Anders knew there was anyone else in the room. Or even in Kirkwall. It was more than a little disturbing, having the undivided attention of a man who just might be an abomination. "He would have died, I guess, if that even means anything. And he wanted to help me. He knew what mages had suffered. But my anger... when I see templars now, things that have always outraged me, but I could never do anything about... he comes out. And he is no longer my friend Justice. He is a force of vengeance. And he has no grasp of mercy."

Why had I not sent Carver home? My brother would never understand this. I thought I did, though. For good or ill, Anders had attempted a kind deed. He sought only to help others. The experiment failed, but that did not diminsh the selflessness of the act. Condemning him now would serve no purpose... unless...

"Can anything be done to reverse the process?" I asked.

"I don't think so," Anders said. "The only way a spirit has ever been separated from a living host is by its death."

I could almost hear Carver urging that solution, but praise the Maker, he said nothing.

"The curse is of my own making," Anders said after a pause. "All I can do now is hope to control it."

I looked around uncomfortably. I saw nothing that would help me in the current circumstances, but I did notice that Anders lived in squalor. Ministering to the sick and friendless in Kirkwall was obviously not keeping body and soul together very well... no matter how many of the latter he seemed to have acquired.

"Is there anything I can do for you?" I asked.

"You're the first one I've ever told this," he said solemnly. "Thank you for not running away."

"You did the best you could," I reassured him. "None of us know the full consequences of our actions. The best we can do is hope that the purity of our intent will be enough to save us, should our choices go ill."

"My maps are yours," Anders said, his voice breaking with emotion, "as am I, should you wish to join your expedition. Until then, I will be waiting here. The door will always be open for you."

* * *

><p>"Are you an actual idiot or do you just act like one?" Carver asked scornfully as soon as we were out of Darktown.<p>

"Don't be hasty, Carver," Aveline said coldly. "I'm sure Iain has his reasons for wanting to placate an abomination. Was he dropped on his head as an infant, do you know?"

"I do have reasons," I answered defensively. "But you'll have to forgive me if I don't want to broadcast them across the Lowtown Bazaar. I'll just say this. Both of you, if you had gone your whole life without meeting another person like yourself who was not a blood relative, how eager would you be to betray that person when you did find him? Alright, so he's a little more than we expected, but he's no monster."

"That's right," Carver snorted, "because my best mate's got a demon for a tenant, too."

"Easy on the demon part," Varric warned, looking around. "He's just a bit... loud. And angry. And blue. Not like a demon at all."

"No, not like a demon," I said firmly. "Demons don't try to save other peoples' lives and free them from a life of slavery. Demons don't give up everything they are to make the world a better place for others -"

"Others like themselves," Carver interrupted.

"Yes, others like themselves!" I said angrily. I turned toward Aveline. "What do they call a soldier who sells out his own?"

"That's harsh," Aveline said, deflating a bit, "but you do have a point. Just be careful, Iain. We may not be... like you... but we don't want to see you get hurt. We've been through too much together for me to sit on my hands while you take risks. Like it or not, some people are more dangerous than others."

"I'll remember that, Aveline," I said... and meant it.

"You should!" Aveline harrumphed, but there was no sting in it. This was just my loyal friend Aveline, making sure that all of her chicks made it back to the nest. I could forgive her for that.

Carver would not be so easy to appease. He resented me enough already, without me rushing to the defense of a new friend. Fortunately, Carver is at his happiest when he has something to complain about. It will all be alright.

"Well, I don't know about the rest of you," Varric yawned, "but bed's starting to sound really good right now. I'll see you in the morning."

With that, we bid each other farewell and Carver and I returned home.

These maps had better be worth it. We need to get out of this hovel. Carver is sprawled across the entire middle bunk, leaving nowhere for me to sleep. It's probably intentional. I tried sleeping on the bottom bunk once, but after a late-night encounter with a rat, I will not do that again. Well, this will not be the first night (morning) I have slept with my head on the table. It will not be for long, anyway. Mother wakes early, and she will probably remind me of six chores I promised before breakfast. We need a bigger place. Or at least another bed.


	3. Chapter 3: Exploring Darktown

_AN: This fanfic makes no claims of accurate characterization of game personae or portrayal of game events. Dragon Age II and all characters except Iain are owned by BioWare. Iain is on loan... kind of. Where direct quotations are used in place of paraphrases or original dialogue, the intent is to be as faithful as possible to the original work. In no way should the inclusion of direct quotations be construed as an attempt to claim credit for the work and talent of another. Later chapters will feature exclusively original dialogue, but I thought it was important to take less liberties with the early material._

* * *

><p>9:31 Dragon, 3 Guardian: Gamlen's hovel, Lowtown<p>

I awoke to a row in progress. Mother and Gamlen were arguing about money again. More specifically, why the family no longer had any. Gamlen refused to tell her, which made me think that it went nowhere honest. Sleeping as I had done, seated at and sprawled across the table, I could not help but hear every word of the argument. That, too seemed to irritate my uncle. I retreated to the bedroom our family shared. Carver was awake and seated on the edge of the middle bunk.

"That again," he grunted. "Just what we need to wake up to."

"Did Mother step on you on the way down?" I asked. Mother slept in the top bunk, and while I usually woke up if anything moved in the room, Carver never did.

"A rat ruined one of her shoes," Carver said. "She was moaning about it when I woke up. I told her that it was probably Peaches."

"Peaches hasn't chewed a shoe in months," I defended my dog. "Besides, there's no mistaking it when she chomps on something. The slobber is worse than her teeth."

"Well, don't go telling Mother that," Carver snorted. "I just about convinced her that Gamlen doesn't have any rats."

"You aren't serious. The last one I saw, you could have slapped a saddle on it and ridden it out of Kirkwall."

"You're just saying that because you shrieked like a little girl."

"I did not," I lied.

"If you say so, sister."

"It's a pity the money's gone," I changed the subject. "Just think of how much more sleep we'd get if we lived in the estate again."

"It'll take more than coin to live in that house again," Carver said derisively.

"Oh? What have you heard?"

"Uncle's a chatty drunk. He treated me to a pint at the Blooming Rose - don't start - and it turns out that the ancestral mansion is now owned by slavers."

"No!"

"You heard me. Looks like the most extensive wine cellar in the Free Marches is now part of a slave highway."

"Well, we can't allow that to continue, can we, Carver?"

"I don't see what good it will do," Carver shrugged. "Even if we get rid of the slavers, we can't afford to live there."

"We owe it to Mother to try," I said. "She gave up a lot for us. Everything. We'd be ungrateful wretches if we didn't try to get some of that back. If nothing else, we'll get rid of the slavers."

"If you're determined to do this, we'll clear the estate from the bottom up, but I think we'll need Varric and Aveline. Mother gave me the key to the basement. The entrance is in the Undercity somewhere. Maybe your boyfriend knows where."

I let that one go. It was enough that Carver was willing to try to reclaim the estate. Antagonizing him about Anders would not help.

* * *

><p>As it turned out, Aveline was free for the morning, but she had to report for guard duty in the afternoon. Varric had no plans, he said. From the conversations we have had, this might or might not have been true. He will cheerfully use any excuse to avoid having to deal with the Dwarven Merchant's Guild, so it is possible that his availability was less than he made out. Then again, my visits to him have never interrupted anything more serious than his lunch, so it is possible that he would avoid his family's business even if I did not give him more appealing alternatives.<p>

Our one previous visit to the Undercity had been unremarkable. We wandered around, we got lost, and eventually, we found Anders's clinic. This time, however, we were set upon by thugs as soon as we entered the tunnels. Carta, Varric said, Casteless dwarves run out of Orzammar, emigrated to the Free Marches to ply the lyrium trade where Kirkwall's numerous templars provided a steady market. How many templars they would encounter in Darktown was anyone's guess, but then again, it made sense for them to operate some parts of their business in places their chief customers did not frequent. The Carta rogues were in no mood to talk shop, but it did not take us long to dispatch them. With Carver and Aveline along, trouble of any kind tended to be resolved very quickly. Next time Carver gets in one of his sulks, I should probably remind him how highly I think of his talents. If that would even help. Sometimes, I think he enjoys playing the neglected misfit a little too much.

We encountered trouble twice more before reaching the more familiar parts of the Undercity. Once, we ran into another group of toughs. Unlike the last, this group was made up of humans. Varric identified them as Coterie, a group I vaguely remembered from my days with the Red Iron. We steered clear of Kirkwall's organized crime, but it made no effort to steer clear of us. It did not need to. We were hired muscle, cheap and expendable, and they knew it. It felt good to finally have the upper hand over them... though I doubt the Coterie would consider the elimination of one group of petty thieves much of a tactical defeat. If the goons we killed were any good, they would have been working somewhere more profitable than Darktown.

The other "trouble" we found came in the form of Tomwise, a well-meaning but chronically unlucky elven compounder the Red Iron hired sometimes to supply them with grenades, weapon coatings, and poison. There was nothing unfortunate about the mixtures Tomwise made. They were perfectly reliable and easy to identify in a potion-case full of mixed vials. The latter quality was especially important. A person did not want to confuse a tar bomb with a lyrium potion. It almost never ended well. And it was not Tomwise himself that offended. His friendly, if somewhat morose manner was a welcome change after the brutish ways much of the Red Iron adopted, and I always found his personal appearance reassuring. As the one person in Kirkwall uglier than myself, even by Carver's standards, I rather liked the looks of him. It was just that misfortune followed Tomwise. Whenever I bought something from him, I tended to need it immediately. A transaction with him was like the lightning flash that preceded the thunder. This time, however, nothing too exciting happened after encountering him in his little makeshift store. We exchanged greetings and pleasant small-talk, he gave me a recipe (for free!), and we wished each other well with perfect sincerity.

We had not yet found the entrance to the Amell Ancestral Basement when we came upon Anders's clinic. Carver grumbled a bit, but agreed to a short visit before we resumed our search. We found Anders in the middle of a tricky healing involving a miner with a broken leg. Carver and I helped set the bone so he could heal it cleanly. Once that was done, it was Aveline's turn to render aid. A heavily pregnant woman was carried in, her belly heaving with contractions, but no baby came. Aveline bullied her into obedient calmness while Anders turned the breech baby so that the woman could give birth without resorting to surgery. Over the next hour, all of us pitched in... in one way or other. Varric's part was limited to distracting anxious family members while Anders healed the sick and injured, but he did it without complaint. After the last patient was bid farewell and better luck in the future, we were finally free to talk. As willing as the others had been to help out when the clinic was crowded with patients, my companions retreated once the clinic was empty, leaving me to talk to Anders alone. He did not seem to notice the desertion. His mood was happy and expansive. He was obviously pleased to have helpers to care for the downtrodden. When I mentioned our purpose in coming to Darktown, his mood brightened even more.

"I had a friend like you once," he said cheerfully. "Got into all kinds of trouble, dragged me along. Didn't think I'd be doing that again. I got a bit weighty last time we talked. Sorry for putting that on you."

"You can tell me anything," I said, and found that I meant it. There was something about him that made me warm to him. I felt as if I could talk to him; that he would not judge me. I had met few people I could say that about.

"Anything?" Anders asked with an enigmatic half-smile. "Be careful what you offer. I just... I hope I didn't seem too selfish when I told you about Justice. I didn't know what would happen. I figured a willing host, a friend... it had to be better than playing the demon and haunting some corpse."

"Well, he can't complain about his looks, anyway," I joked. I do not know if I intended that to be flirtatious. Anders was a handsome man, if a bit thinner than he should be. I saw no harm in pointing that out. The moment I chose to make this rather inappropriate statement could have been better chosen, but I was comfortable around him. I felt as if I could speak as openly as I could around my family or closest friends... who at the moment were limited to Carver, Varric, and sometimes Aveline. I felt that I did not have to maintain decorum, that I was safe. But whether I meant it as an advance or not, that is how Anders chose to interpret it.

"Growing up in the Circle, everything is about order, and rules, and the templars," he said, his voice serious. "The apprentices, we found ways to make that bearable. Karl and I... he was the first. We could forget that out in the world, we were nothing but templar slaves. We hadn't been together for a long time, but still, it hurt."

Andraste's mercy. Had I bid him kill his lover?

"You... and Karl?" I blurted stupidly.

"I've always believed that people fall in love with a whole person, not just a body," he explained. "Why would you shy away from loving someone just because they're like you? Does it bother you that I've... been with men?"

For a moment, I just blinked at him.

"I just had... never considered..." I stammered. And I meant it. I had never thought about love for myself in any context, man or woman. My magic was something I had to hide, and how could I get close to anyone when I had to conceal such a big part of what made me who I am? After that, gender was meaningless. Yes, I became distracted when Norah brought my drink at the Hanged Man. Often, to the extent that I never noticed that the drink she brought was not the drink I ordered. But I found Anders's face and form agreeable, too. His stated belief that love went beyond mere looks went a long way toward explaining how he could listen to my clumsy flirtation without recoiling... though it did not explain why he felt the need to ask whether I disapproved of his personal history in the first place.

"Well, perhaps I'll give you time to consider, then," he purred, "in as much detail as you fancy."

My jaw might actually have dropped. I do not know. I was too busy trying to reconcile the sultry seduction in his voice with the face I saw in the looking glass. I knew that I was blushing to my hairline, which only increased my embarrassment.

"This is hardly the time or place, anyway," Anders continued with a sigh. "Not after Karl..."

Karl's death... and the way he died... put an immediate end to any libidinous feelings that might have been growing while Anders spoke. He had killed his lover, with my encouragement. Karl asked... no, pleaded... that he do it, but what must Anders have suffered, with his own hand on the knife? Could I not have spared him that? Then again, Aveline would have resented me, had I robbed her of her duty, when her husband Wesley lay dying of the Blight.

"No one should have to go through that," I said, fumbling for an apology.

"It's the bloody templars," Anders said angrily. "You know how it is. They don't see us as people. They don't care that Karl was someone's son... someone's lover. If you're born with magic, they hear about it. They search your little rat-spit village and find you. They tell your parents that they'll be thrown in prison if they ever ask about you... stripped of their rights in the eyes of the Maker. And if you run away, they hunt you down. Again, and again, and again."

As Anders spoke, sparks of blue light began to flicker across his features. By the time he finished, his eyes were nothing more than pits of swirling blue light.

"Anders..." I began. "I'm sorry."

He shuddered and the light was gone. His eyes were clear amber-brown once more.

"Andraste's words were that magic should not rule over man," he said. "It is not 'ruling' to wish for the same rights as any man! Doesn't every mage deserve the freedom you've had?"

"The freedom to study in secret, afraid of the templars swooping in at any moment?" I retorted. "The freedom to be driven from place to place, never calling anywhere home? The freedom from ever having had a real friend? A lover of any kind?"

I stopped abruptly. Anders just looked at me, compassion in his expressive eyes.

"I... I'm sorry," I said after a pause that went on a few heartbeats too long. "You did nothing to deserve that. Blame the templars for my short temper, too, I guess. If it weren't for them, maybe we both could have had normal lives."

"No, don't apologize," he comforted me. "You have every right to be angry. It's good to find someone who... understands."

"We're exploring Darktown," I babbled. "Would you like to join us?"

"Of course," he said. "That was the last of my patients, at least for now. It's just... I'll go with you anywhere, but why Darktown? Most people avoid seeing more of the Undercity than absolutely necessary."

"My family once had an estate here in Kirkwall," I explained. "Its cellars open out down here somewhere. It's slavers that have the estate now, and if we get rid of the slavers, there's a chance we might be able to reclaim our home. It would make my mother happy."

"Do you have any idea where it is?" he asked.

"I was hoping you might be able to help," I replied, cursing my fair skin for its ability to blush with almost no provocation. My face was just starting to return to normal after the awkwardness of discussing... attraction, and now it was blazing anew.

"You have only to ask," he smiled, a hint of his earlier allurement returning.

"We have a key," I supplied. "We just don't know where it goes."

Praise Andraste, Anders did not offer any lewd suggestions. Varric probably would have.

"There's a little-used door not far from here," Anders suggested. "You passed it on your way in. We can try your key there and see if it fits."

I drew Anders after me as I went to rejoin the others. Varric and Aveline looked bored, but Carver looked annoyed. I swallowed uncomfortably. How long had we been gone?

"So, you've had enough of holding hands, have you?" Carver sniped. "Can we get on with it?"

"Anders thinks he knows where the entrance is -" I began.

"I'm not sure," Anders said quickly, eyeing my brother with some distrust. "There aren't that many actual doors down here, and I don't think I've ever seen this one open."

"It's worth investigating," Aveline agreed, "but it might have to wait until later. I'm due to report for duty soon, and it wouldn't be right to let you do this alone."

"You go, Aveline," I excused her. "I'm grateful you were able to come with us this far, but we should be able to clean out a basement ourselves."

"Are you sure?" she sounded skeptical. "Slavers aren't exactly pushovers, and that Coterie alchemist almost had you."

"And I'm glad you were there, Aveline," I replied. "And Carver, too. But we should be alright. Ande- and Carver will be there, and we can always leave if it's more than we can handle."

At the last moment, I stopped myself from saying "Anders said that he would help." That would not have gone over well with Aveline. Her expression told me that she considered Anders as much of a threat as slavers.

"That's right," Carver said, puffing out his chest. "I'll get Iain back in one piece."

"You'd better," Aveline growled. "I don't want to hear about recklessness from either of you, understood?"

"Don't you have loiterers to chase or something?" Varric interjected.

"I'm on my way, dwarf," Aveline said sternly. "As soon as I know that Iain and Carver will behave themselves."

"I'll make sure they wipe their feet on the doormat," Varric teased. "Now come on, Hawke. Let's see if your key opens Blondie's door."

* * *

><p>The key worked. Mere yards from Anders's clinic, and we were standing in the Amell house. Or the basements, at least. For "the most extensive wine cellars in Kirkwall," they did not smell much like wine. They smelled of fear and oppression. And onions, for some unfathomable reason.<p>

We did not go a dozen steps before encountering slavers. It was chilling to think these conscienceless fiends lurked so close to a place that I was beginning to think of as a refuge. The fight lasted mere moments.

Elsewhere in the city, I had to be careful how and where I used magic, if I did at all. Even in the passages of the Undercity, I was forced to simply hit opponents with my staff and hope that my strength and the staff's passive enchantments would be enough to disable or kill our enemies. Here, away from templar scrutiny, I could and did use the full arsenal at my disposal. I probably fought recklessly, burning through mana far faster than I really needed to, but it felt good to let loose blast after blast of ice or fire. Anders, too, seemed to be enjoying the freedom to cast spells without fear of repercussion. It was almost a shame when the last slaver fell.

The one thing we were not adequately prepared for was traps. That is a lie. Varric was perfectly prepared for them, if only I had exercised the foresight of letting him clear the path ahead before we rushed in. Carver was the one who caught the brunt of it. He was stuck in place, netted by thick webs of translucent goo, helpless against the hooded assassins that leapt at him, stabbing. I screamed and hurled spell after spell at them, but I was too late. My brother fell.

At last, the battle was over and the last enemy lay dead, but it would all have been for nothing if Carver had perished. I flew to his side, but Anders was already there, healing energy pouring from his hands. Carver sat up, his lips already shaping a barb to lance me for poor leadership. His mouth changed shape when he saw who was treating him, however, forming a silent O of surprise.

"Right," Carver grunted, getting to his feet.

After that, Varric led the way, using his extensive knowledge of the various ways people could be slowed or mangled to prevent a repeat of the incident that almost killed Carver. In the next-to-last room, we found a slaver mage who seemed to know Gamlen. He blamed my uncle for our presence there, anyway. Had he met Gamlen at the Blooming Rose? Carver hinted that our uncle spends most of his time there. Yet another reason to object to my brother's frequent excursions to Hightown. Not that there is much I can do to stop them. When we get money, we split it. I put most of my share toward the Deep Roads expedition, but I can not control what Carver does with his.

At last, we reached the vault. The will was there. Gamlen had lied to us.

* * *

><p>The sun was just setting, but the fires of the Foundry District had darkened the skies long before Carver and I returned home. We could hear Gamlen and Mother arguing before we even reached the top of the stairs leading up to our uncle's hovel. They were arguing about money again, but this time, Gamlen had the audacity to demand rent! I soon put a stop to that.<p>

"We found the will," I said as soon as the door closed behind Carver.

"Grandfather left everything to Mother and us," my brother elaborated, passing the document to Mother. "I guess he had some sense after all. See for yourself."

"Er... I should... " Gamlen stammered.

Mother read the will. Aloud. Or she tried to. She broke down when she got to the part where Gamlen was left only a stipend, to be controlled by her.

"Keep reading," I said with a viciousness that surprised me. I did not want to think that such pettiness was part of my nature, but when I thought about the heartbreak Mother endured getting us to Kirkwall, Gamlen's meanness was too much for my usual forbearance. She read it.

"Gamlen... " Mother lamented, "how could you?"

"You're the one who ran away, Leandra!" Gamlen retorted. "What happened to 'Love is so much more important than money'?"

"It is!" she protested, but this battle was already lost, with Gamlen the victor... again.

"You didn't even come home for the funeral!"

"The twins were a week old!"

"We all have our burdens," Gamlen sneered. "Mine was looking after the life you abandoned. How long was I supposed to wait?"

My anger faded. He was right. Had the Blight not forced us here, we never would have known about our family's change in fortunes, or inquired about the will at all. Before we came here, I did not even know I had an uncle. I said as much. Carver no doubt considered it a betrayal, but I had to be honest.

"I always knew I'd return," Mother said, "but I guess you three were Fereldan to your toes."

"Look, Sister," Gamlen said in what he probably thought was a placating voice, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done it, but I did. And there's nothing I can do to get it back."

Mother was on the verge of tears, but her anger too had passed.

"I don't expect that, Gamlen," she said. "It's enough to know that Mother and Father didn't die angry. I'll petition the viscount for rights to reclaim the estate. Maker willing, you'll have your house back within weeks."

"You don't have the coin or standing to even get an audience with the viscount," he said dismissively. "You've got to be someone in this city to live in that house again."

"Then I had better get started," Mother stated. She and Gamlen retreated to opposite sides of the room and avoided looking at each other. Mother picked up her sewing and dreamed of a homecoming. My uncle paced the room, defying anyone to challenge his use and abuse of the family fortune. I just changed into a work tunic and cleaned out the still-cold fireplace. It was too late to cook anything for supper, but I could lay a fire and put some grain on to soak for tomorrow. Apples, bread and cheese would be fine for tonight. I was too weary to cook, anyway. When was the last time I cast that many spells in one day? Probably never.

Mother wrote late into the evening, filling page after page with her neat script only to crush the parchment and fling it into the kindling basket. I started to worry about the cost of writing materials, but at least it kept her busy... and distracted from her habitual moaning about our family's change in social standing. She did weep that Bethany had not lived to enjoy our inevitable move to the restored estate, but her sorrow was understandable. My sister had been dead but one year. A mother's grief should not pass faster than that. I thanked Andraste that she never found out how close she had come to losing Carver as well.

Carver himself was indifferent to the events of the afternoon. He had no desire to reclaim dusty old titles. He wanted to make a home in Kirkwall on his own terms, and viewed all ties to the past with disdain. To him, pursuing our history was nothing more than the pathetic reanimation of faded glory. I let him be. The events of the day... and the words of a healer... gave me much to think about.


	4. Chapter 4: Anders

_This fanfic makes no claims of accurate characterization of game personae or portrayal of game events. Dragon Age II and all characters except Iain are owned by BioWare. Iain is on loan... kind of. Alright, now that we know who everyone is and what they sound like in game, there's no need to use game dialogue. From here on out, if it's a direct quote, it's completely unintentional._

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><p>9:31 Dragon, 6 Guardian: The Hanged Man, Lowtown<p>

"I'll give you plenty of time to think bout that," Anders had said, "In as much detail as you fancy."

And I did think about him. Constantly. For two days. I still did not know how I felt about the prospect of intimacy with him, but it occcupied my thoughts, even when I should have been thinking about other things, like how we were going to raise fifty sovereigns.

How did it feel to lie in another's arms? What was it like to kiss someone? Was it different if that someone was another man? What did Anders look like naked? These were the weighty matters I contemplated. In two days, I had accomplished nothing. I resolved to talk to Anders again. I was almost certain that he had propositioned me. Would he be willing to go through with it? All my life, I had avoided intimacy because of the risk that another person would find out my secret, but Anders already knew.

The morning of the third day, I found myself in front of Anders's clinic. Despite the dangers of the Undercity, I went by myself. The last thing I wanted was for Carver to watch what would probably be the clumsiest seduction attempt of all time. My heart was pounding, but I opened the door. He was alone, writing something.

"Well, hello!" he greeted me warmly, putting down his pen. "I was afraid that I'd scared you off."

"Was that why you haven't come to see me?" I teased.

"I wasn't sure if I'd be welcome." He looked away. "I thought, perhaps, you'd changed your mind about me."

"Uh, no," I said, suddenly aware of how awkward this conversation was about to become. "I've been thinking about what you said."

"About the injustice we face?" he brightened again at the mention of his favorite subject.

"About finding ways to make life more bearable," I said evasively.

"Oh, that," he sighed. "I'm sorry, Iain. A year ago, maybe we could have had something, but now..."

He sank heavily to a crate and covered his face with his hands.

"You've seen what I've become," he said wearily. "That's who I am. That part of my life is over."

I could face him no longer. I wanted to run. For the first time in my life, I had offered a bit of myself to another, and I was rejected. I took a few steps toward the door.

"Iain," Anders's sad voice made me pause. My brain unhelpfully supplied "Don't go," which would have sent me out the door at once. Instead, he said "I understand."

I froze. He thought I was rejecting him! That, now that I had his maps, I had no use for him unless it was lying down. My shoulders sagged and I turned toward him. I pulled up a crate beside him and shared the unhappy silence that followed. If we were both disappointed, it was better, somehow.

"You found your way here alright?" he asked at the same time that I asked "Have you had breakfast?"

We both blinked and looked at each other for a moment.

"No," he replied just as I said "Yes."

"You go first," we both said together. That was it. The tension dissolved in laughter. He recovered first.

"If you're offering, I could do with something to eat," he said. "We're quiet here, for the moment. I could probbly duck out for a while. I have no food here, I'm afraid."

"No, I would not imagine that you did," I agreed. "There's a baker's cart in the Lowtown market that has really good cheese bread."

"I know it," he said. "Fereldans, too. She brought her daughter here with the measles a month or so ago. They came up before the Blight."

"Do you get to know all your patients?" I asked as he collected his coat and staff and blew out the lamp.

"Hardly!" he snorted. "Most of my patients don't mind mages too much when they need their wounds closed, but once they're mended and on their way home, they want nothing more to do with me."

"I wouldn't say that," I said wryly. "We were jumped by a group that was ready to protect you with their lives. They called you 'our healer.'"

"Well, that certainly is heart-warming," Anders chuckled. "I hope you went easy on them. They're a rarity in Kirkwall."

"We never fought them at all," I said. "Carver told them that we were a bunch of Fereldans hiding from the templars ourselves, and they lost interest in us, after that."

"Your brother is not too keen on mages, as I recall."

"Oh, he's all talk. Sure, he wishes he were an only child, but he's not so bad once you get to know him."

Anders looked at me skeptically.

"Alright, that was a lie," I laughed. "He's a complete prick, but he's still my brother. He won't betray us."

"Us?" The question hung in the air.

"I'm not going to cut you loose just because you won't... "

I couldn't even say it. Perhaps I was not as ready for "it" as I thought I was.

"No," he said soberly, "but I'd understand if you were less than sanguine about palling around with a... mage."

"Oh, will you stop? I'm starving."

Anders smiled. It was probably the first genuinely happy expression I had seen on his face.

* * *

><p>We found the baker's cart. The woman there pretended not to know Anders, but she charged us less for two portions than I usually paid for one. Anders started to apologize for having no money to pay for his share, but I refused to hear it.<p>

"Let's eat down by the harbor," I suggested. "We can watch the ships."

"And it has a lovely view of the Gallows, too," Anders said sarcastically.

"Mmm, yes," I agreed, "maybe that wasn't the best idea I've ever had. Is there anyplace in Kirkwall a person can go to have a pleasant breakfast?"

"Not really," Anders shrugged. "Hightown is scenic, but the people there... and the Alienage has the vhenadahl, but they make you feel guilty for being human. Wait. I know just the spot."

To my surprise, he led me back down into the Undercity, but into a part I had never seen before. It was an older tunnel, and it butted up against a ruined elevator shaft where the back wall had fallen away in a landslide years ago. We looked out across a mist-filled gorge toward tree-dappled cliffs and a leaping waterfall. It was the most breathtaking thing I had seen since coming to Kirkwall.

"I come here to think sometimes," Anders explained. "It's always quiet."

I did not say anything, at first. I just took his hand. He smiled and withdrew it.

"Your food will get cold," he said, ignoring the fact that our meal was probably baked yesterday and could not get much colder without an ice spell.

"What is it like?" I asked around a mouthful of bread.

"To have all this power at my fingertips?" he replied sardonically. He seemed to be enjoying a private joke, but I did not understand it.

"No, to grow up with others like you."

"Your sister had magic, didn't she?" he countered.

"Yes, but it's different when it's family," I argued.

"The Circle is family, too," Anders said with a sigh. "The Senior Enchanters are your aunts and uncles, and the apprentices are your siblings... and the templars are that one wicked uncle that your parents don't want you to spend too much time alone with."

"I hadn't thought of it like that," I admitted. "If you've never known any other family, what would you compare it to?"

"If you took away the templars, it wouldn't be too bad," Anders allowed. "The idea of having a mentor to help you develop your talents safely is a good one. But you had your father."

"How do you know about them?" I asked suddenly. "My sister and father, I mean. And even my brother. I never told you about them."

"Varric bought me dinner, after we left your family's estate. I wanted to know more about you and he was willing to tell me. Don't worry. He didn't betray any secrets."

"I don't think there's a secret I have that I would keep from you," I said and regretted it instantly. Once more, my face turned red. I made myself more ridiculous by the moment. To my relief, Anders did not laugh, nor did he pull away from me.

"I'm flattered by your trust," he said. "There aren't many who would offer it to... someone like me."

"I am someone like you," I said. "Well, not exactly, but close enough."

Anders beamed.

We chatted away the rest of the morning and part of the afternoon. Eventually, Anders's conscience got the better of him and he insisted on returning to his clinic, but he allowed me to accompany him. His workload was light, though, so we were able to continue our conversation there, at least for a while. We spoke of ordinary things, our experiences growing up. We were just starting in on a comparison of our training, he with his instructors, me with my father, when the last of the light faded from the western air-shafts. Since these were nearly vertical, there was still some daylight left, but I needed to get home. Dinner would not cook itself and by now, I knew that no one else in my family would bother with it. Carver would not trouble himself for anyone, and Mother still acted the guest and refused to help much with the household chores... which irritated Gamlen, so he would not cook, either. I invited Anders to come back with me but he declined. It was probably for the best.

"I'm going to the Hanged Man later," I said. "Care to join me there?"

"Thank you, I think I will," he accepted eagerly.

I left Anders's clinic happier than I had felt in a long time. He might not be willing to teach me about the different ways one person can give pleasure to another, but I can talk to Anders about anything. He understands. For the first time in my life, I have a friend. And he will be here soon, so I had better put my journal away and go find Carver and Varric. If we are meant to be playing cards tonight, it would not look natural for me to have a pile of coins still in front of me. No one who plays against Varric is that lucky.


	5. Chapter 5: Dance of Fools

_AN: This fanfic makes no claims of accurate characterization of game personae or portrayal of game events. Dragon Age II and all characters except Iain are owned by BioWare. Iain is mine... kind of._

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><p>9:31 Dragon, 7 Guardian: Anders's picture window, Darktown<p>

Note to self: Never go drink for drink with a pirate. Also, Gamlen says that while the pitcher I broke was a priceless family heirloom, he recalls seeing one like it at Rulf and Tombla's Pottery, Lowtown Bazaar. If I obtain the necessary substitute before the end of the week, he will refrain from throwing me and my dog out on our asses. The man is a prince!

Anders arrived at Varric's suite in the Hanged Man not long after I closed my journal last night. I had neglected to tell him that he would be joining us for cards, which was pure thoughtlessness on my part. I knew Anders had no coin. I had bought him breakfast just that morning. Had I thought that through, I might have foreseen that showing up to a game of Wicked Grace with an empty purse would likely make Anders uncomfortable. So I feigned ignorance of the game and asked Anders to coach me. None of the others betrayed me, not even Carver. Or maybe I really am that bad and the others thought that Anders's advice might help. If so, they were wrong. By the time Aveline left, I was lucky to still have my boots. Still, I have never enjoyed Wicked Grace so much. Anders sat close beside me, and leaned in even closer to see my hand without showing the others. Several times, when he whispered suggestions in my ear, the scruff of his cheek brushed against my clean-shaven one. I knew that it meant nothing. It was mere physical proximity and only my imagination made more of it, but what a thrill I got from that game! Had it continued... and had I more gold... I would have played no better.

Nothing lasts forever though, and tonight, the game ended even earlier than usual. Aveline was covering the morning shift for another guardsman and wanted a full night's sleep. She had just departed and Varric was counting his winnings when a commotion broke out in the common room. He dumped the coins unceremoniously into his belt pouch while the rest of us made for the stairs to see what was afoot.

The most striking woman I had ever seen had been grabbed from behind and was being held aloft by her considerable bosom while a group of armed men closed in around her. Carver jumped in at once, but the barfight was over before he reached her. A twist, a jerk, and a decidedly unladylike headbutt freed her from her captor and she sprang toward her attackers with obvious zeal. For a brief moment, the space around her was a cloud of flashing elbows, knees, and fists, but soon, all was quiet. Her former opponents lay scattered across the barroom floor, curled in upon their vitals and moaning piteously. The hapless man who had seized her looked as if he were frozen in the act of reaching for his sword, the woman's dagger pressed gently against his throat.

"Do you feel lucky, Lucky?" she asked. Her voice poured through my ears and plunged straight to my crotch.

The man was out the door almost before his sword clattered to the floor. The woman tossed her glossy black hair back over her shoulders, kicked the sword toward the bartender, and went back to her drink.

Now that the danger was past, I had leisure to really look at her. Did I say she was striking? I meant that she was... stunning. Like a blow to the head. Her skin was bronzed perfection, and she was not afraid of showing it off. All that decency would allow, and then some. And her body... I could not bear to look at her, nor could I bring myself to turn away. The word "voluptuous" was invented just for her, I'm sure of it.

Varric poked me in the kidney.

"Oh, Maker," I panicked, "she's coming this way!"

"Steady, Hawke," Varric murmured behind me. I could hear the laughter in his voice. "She might bite you, but only if you ask nicely."

"You look like a man who knows how to handle himself," she purred. Her smoky eyes traveled slowly across my body. I shivered and suppressed the urge to look down to see if I was wearing pants.

"He's the only one who will," Carver muttered, though the siren ignored him.

"I get around," I lied, trying to sound nonchalant. Her eyes lit with amusement at my posturing. She could probably spot an idiot a league away. At the moment, that would be me.

"I'm Isabela," she said with a perfectly straight face, "Captain Isabela, though the title's a bit hollow without a ship. I've got a little problem you can help me with, if you're looking to earn some coin."

"You want us to chase down the men who attacked you?" I asked.

"No, that's alright," she chuckled, "Lucky isn't worthy of your attention. It's a man called Hayder. I've arranged to meet him for a duel, but I don't trust him to play fair."

"Was he the one that sent Lucky after you?"

"No, I hired Lucky to look something up for me," she said. "Hayder's too smart for that. Which is why I need a man of your talents."

"Which ones did you have in mind?" Even as I uttered the words, I cringed. Why did I think that would be a suave thing to say? More importantly, how could I prevent myself from doing it again?

"That all depends on you," she said with a seductive half-smile. "Let's see how you do with Hayder."

"Where is this duel supposed to take place?" At last, I managed to say something intelligent.

"In Hightown," she answered. "Meet me by the monument in front of Viscount's Way and we'll go in together."

"I'll be there soon."

"The duel's set for midnight. Don't be late."

With that, Isabela walked out the door.

"'Which ones did you have in mind?'" Carver echoed mockingly. "When we get back, we're taking you to the Blooming Rose. If you get laid, maybe you won't make a fool of yourself so often."

"So, what's your excuse, little Hawke?" Varric retorted.

"No, he's right," I said dejectedly. "I don't think a visit to the Blooming Rose would help, but that was, without a doubt, the stupidest thing I've ever said."

"You're young," Varric supplied unhelpfully. "You'll live to say many stupider things, I'm sure."

Anders cleared his throat. I gave myself yet another mental kick in the butt. In the confusion of meeting Isabela, I had forgotten he was even there. What a way to demonstrate the constancy of my affection! There is truly no hope for me.

"Does anyone need to pick anything up before we meet Isabela?" I asked, changing the subject. "We're not getting out of this one without a fight."

Nobody did. We must be the most warlike card-players in existence, to have brought both armor and weapons to the Hanged Man. In Kirkwall, it was not a bad habit to have.

* * *

><p>Isabela was waiting where she said she would be, and, as expected, she was alone.<p>

"Something's wrong." I could hear the worry in Isabela's voice.

"Just about everything, if I know Hawke's luck," Varric replied.

We got no further. At that moment, a small group of thugs materialized from out of nowhere, apparently, and started attacking us. We defeated them easily, but more kept appearing. I was in trouble.

Ever since our arrival in Kirkwall, I had avoided using magic in the streets. Inside buildings or protected from public scrutiny, I used less restraint, but out in the open, it was too much of a risk. The city was crawling with templars, and Varric's estimation of my luck was accurate. I was certain that if I so much as healed a hangnail, I would be spotted by a templar and hauled off to the Gallows before I could even finish the spell. So I hit things with my staff. Unfortunately, that meant that I had to be rather close to whatever was attacking me. For a time, I was able to keep up, but after a while, the cuts and bruises I had sustained slowed me down to the point where I was missing even easily dodged blows. The top of a shield caught me in the jaw and I staggered. My eyes had trouble focusing. A wave of cold washed over me and a forest of icy spikes sprang up between me and my attackers, freezing some of them in the process. A supporting arm wrapped itself around my waist, but I was sinking fast.

When I opened my eyes, it was all over. I was on the ground and Anders was supporting me, hugging me to his chest. Carver was looking down on us, his expression anxious.

"If you're going to put your arms around me, can you at least make sure I'm awake for it?" My voice sounded weak in my own ears, but my strength was returning quickly.

"Thank the Maker!" Anders breathed, his voice thick with worry. "What happened? Why didn't you defend yourself?"

"So you can visit me in the Gallows?" I retorted. I was quite enjoying the sensation of being held, but, as this was no time for cuddling, I sat up. "You know what they do to mages in Kirkwall."

"You won't get caught if you kill all the witnesses," Anders explained. "You just have to be sure that no one escapes."

"What? Bystanders and innocents, too?"

"No, of course not," Anders replied, sounding exasperated. "But you won't find many of those. Most people in Kirkwall run away at the first sign of trouble."

I looked around. It was true. We were alone in the square, Varric, Carver, Anders, and I... and Isabela. Some hero I turned out to be! She was probably wondering what happened to those talents I talked so much about.

"So..." I ventured, "did we win?"

"For now," she replied. While she was not exactly wringing her hands at the sight of my injuries, she was not laughing at my ineptitude, either. That was something, I guess. "Still no sign of Hayder, though. I found a note on one of the bodies. 'Your payment is waiting. Bring proof of her death to the Chantry.'"

"That's where he'll be, then," I said, getting to my feet and offering Anders a hand up.

"Are you in?" she asked. I winced.

"Better get used to it, brother," Carver chuckled. "If you ever find someone who will have you, you'll be hearing a lot of it."

"I meant, will you come with me?" Isabela rolled her eyes but otherwise ignored Carver's jab.

"I'm surprised you still want my help."

"We all have bad days," she shrugged.

"Then let's go."

When we got to the Chantry, I began to wonder if anyone lived here at all. It was just as deserted as it had been the night we were here with Anders. Was it only four days ago? And once again, the Chantry was lit, although not as well as it had been the first time.

One of the things that I was learning to dislike about the Chantry was that there was noplace to hide. It was a long walk, straight up the center aisle, with nothing but a pair of alcoves off the sides that led to regions unknown. Servant quarters, storerooms, or kitchens, most likely. With no way to avoid notice, we strode brazenly forward. A man was standing alone near the stairs to the podium.

"Isabela," he said as we approached. "Should have known you'd get through."

"You should know better, Hayder," Isabela replied, her tone light... but dangerous.

"Castillon was heartbroken when he heard about your shipwreck." Hayder's voice was just as mocking as Isabela's had been. I found myself wondering why we faced such wordy opponents. It was all going to end in blows, anyway, so it might just be better to cut the suspense and have at each other. "You might have put his mind at ease."

"You mean I didn't?" Isabela said with all possible sweetness and complete insincerity. As she spoke, some friends of Hayder's advanced to join him, including a female lieutenant with a particularly awkward gait. She walked as if she had just soiled her smallclothes.

"Where's the relic?" Hayder snapped.

"What relic?" Isabela parried.

"'What relic?'" Ripples of irritation crossed Hayder's face. "You expect him to forget about that, do you? Like you expected him to forget about a ship full of valuable cargo?"

"They weren't cargo, Hayder, they were people!" Isabela replied angrily.

"Those slaves were worth a hundred sovereigns a head!" Hayder was all but shouting how, livid in his rage.

My breath caught in my throat. Hayder, a slaver? It seemed impossible. He did not look evil. He was of average height, muscular, with a warrior's build, like Carver. His large, once-broken nose gave his face character. His close-set eyes and weak chin took some away, it is true, but I would not have called him unattractive. He wore his hair the same way that I do. In my mind, I heard Anders's voice telling me to look beyond appearances. He did not need to look like a monster to be one. I suddenly felt much more interest in helping Isabela get rid of one nuisance.

"So, the relic's gone, is it?" Hayder went on. "Castillon won't like that."

"Castillon can go hang," I found myself saying.

"Is that any way to talk?" Hayder sneered.

"We've talked long enough," Isabela said flatly. I never saw her hand move, but the next thing I knew, her dagger was plunged hilt-deep in his lieutenant's chest.

The inevitable battle was short, bloody, and far more satisfying than the fight in front of Viscount's Way. For one thing, the absence of people in the Chantry meant that I could use whatever spells I pleased. That sped things up, but it was also far more satisfying to be able to use my Maker-given talents, for a change. This time, however, unlike the confrontation in the Amell Estate cellars, I kept an eye on Carver and healed him when he started to take damage. It was over almost too soon.

"Well," Isabela remarked once the last of Hayder's men went down, "that's one way to keep Castillon from finding out about me. He will eventually, but not today."

"And if he gets his relic?" I asked. "Would that get him off your back?"

"That would do it," she agreed.

"We'll just have to get it for him, then," I heard myself say. The way I sweep people up in my wake, I must be mad. Soon I'll be responsible for the care and feeding of half of Kirkwall.

"I don't know where it is, unfortunately," she said, smiling at my offer.

"Was that what Lucky was trying to find out?"

"Yes. He said he knows everything that goes on in Kirkwall. Liar. He probably doesn't even know everything that goes on in his pants."

She paused, as if expecting me to laugh. Considering my earlier embarrassment at what was going on in my own, I did not find it particularly funny. When she realized that she would get no further reaction from me, she went on.

"What would you say to a drink at the Hanged Man?" she asked. "Partial payback for your help with Hayder. And make sure you check his pockets. He was always a big spender."

"That's your idea of payment?" Varric asked with a raised eyebrow. "A few drinks and first crack at the bodies?"

"Well..." she began evasively. "I'm not exactly rolling in coin, at the moment. I was just shipwrecked, and all. But I'll pay you eventually, I swear."

"You'd better," Varric grunted. Apparently, dwarves are not drawn to well-endowed human women. Either that or Varric has learned not to let sexual attraction govern his decisions. If it's the latter, he and I need to have a talk. There is much I could learn from him.

"About that shipwreck," I interjected. "Hayder mentioned slaves?"

"The slaves had nothing to do with the shipwreck," Isabela explained. "That was another job, during the Blight. Two hundred humans and elves, even children, packed into a cargo hold, lying in their own filth. I couldn't do it. And I couldn't let Castillon find another who would. Some things, even I know are wrong."

She coughed and looked away.

"The shipwreck was more recent," she said. "Got caught in a storm and broke up on the reefs. I made it to shore, but most of my crew... I knew some of those men almost ten years. Balls..."

Her voice faltered.

"So, how about that drink?" she asked, brightening.

* * *

><p>It was late when we got back to the Hanged Man, but the Hanged Man never closes. Carver pleaded fatigue and said that he was going home, but I suspect he went back to Hightown and the Blooming Rose to show off the sword he took from Hayder. This time, at least, Carver could afford it. Hayder had a fat purse, and paid his hirelings well, besides. We were all richer than we were at the start of the evening, and in no hurry to go off to our beds. So, the rest of us took Isabela up on her offer of drinks. Or Varric and I did. Anders could be persuaded to accept no more than a glass of small beer and a plate of stew.<p>

"I've had enough of your swill, Rivaini," Varric protested after the first round was drunk. He had no taste for whiskey, it seemed. "A pint of my usual, Corff -"

"And bring a bottle of whiskey for the rest of us!" Isabela added as Corff, the barman, pulled Varric's ale. With Varric drinking ale and Anders, small beer, "the rest of us" was just Isabela and I, but I was not about to argue grammar with the woman buying my drinks.

"You might want to go easy on that, Hawke," Varric suggested. "Blondie closed your wounds, but you lost a lot of blood."

"He'll be fine," Isabela snorted. "Big strong man like him, probably won't even feel it."

I felt it, all right, but I had the misfortune not to show it as readily. It was not long before I was under Isabela's glamour again, and trying to impress her with the most ridiculous flatteries imaginable.

"Another round?" Isabela inquired, her voice barely betraying the alcohol she had consumed.

"Nah, " Varric declined, patting his midsection contentedly. "I'm off for bed."

"Not a bad idea!" Isabela agreed. "Hawke?"

"I think I'll last for a bit," I said, trying not to slur my words.

"That's kind of the point," Isabela replied with a wink.

"Ah," Anders said a little too cheerfully. "Maybe I'd better just go home."

"Be safe," I answered with appalling disregard for the danger he would face walking through Darktown alone.

His shoulders slumped and he looked as if he were about to say something, but at that moment, my bladder decided it had enough.

"Gotta take a short walk," I said with some urgency.

"I'm at the top of the stairs," Isabela informed me. "Second door on the left."

I made it outside and into an alley, but I never saw Anders leave the tavern. There was no sign of him when I went back inside. I climbed the stairs without mishap and counted to two with probable success. I raised my hand to knock. And I stood there.

My thoughts were everywhere. What did she want from me? She must know how inexperienced I am, or at least be able to guess. Why me, in the first place? Anders or even Carver are more handsome than me. Was it another kind of payment for Hayder? Was it because I was too obviously under her power? Worse, was it out of pity? Did it even matter? She was offering me something I wanted very badly. Or did I? Yes, I wanted it. Why? Because she was beautiful? Aveline was beautiful, in her way, but I did not make a fool of myself in public because I wanted to knock boots with her. Because Isabela's body was the pinacle of female sexuality? Am I really that shallow? Because sex is something other people take for granted, yet I never get to experience? All it would take to remedy that would be fifty silver and a trip to the Blooming Rose. I have avoided it thus far because I wanted it to mean something. Would it mean anything with Isabela? I wanted her, but I did not love her. I did not even feel the beginnings of a spiritual connection, the way I felt with Anders. Anders. He knew what she offered me. Was I here because I was punishing him for rejecting me? No, or at least I did not think so. Would he view it that way? Was this even about Isabela at all, or was it about Anders? Was I here because he would not have me? Were these the kind of thoughts I wanted to have the night a pirate with easy morals made a man of me? I should not be here.

I turned back down the stairs and re-entered the common room. And I saw Anders flying toward the door. He must have remained behind to see what I did about Isabela. Had he fled when he saw me ready to knock or had he waited to see me turn away? Probably not the latter, I decided. He would not have gotten so far ahead of me otherwise. Damnation, he will think I slept with her. The gut-wrenching, heartsick lurch I felt as this thought struck home was all the proof I needed that I had made the right decision about declining Isabela's invitation. But it did not tell me what to do about Anders.

With no immediate solution at hand, I went home. And woke this morning to a headache like unto the wrath of the Maker. Worse, I could not even concentrate to heal it. I attempted to slake my thirst, but that was when I broke Gamlen's pitcher. Nothing will cure my hangover but time. If only there was something so simple to mend my relationship with Anders. I will have to face him sooner or later. Perhaps that was why I chose this place to write. How different things were yesterday, as we ate our breakfast and learned to be friends. I will go to him soon. Perhaps he will even forgive me.


	6. Chapter 6: Healing and Desire

_AN: This fanfic makes no claims of accurate characterization of game personae or portrayal of game events. Dragon Age II and all characters except Iain are owned by BioWare. Iain is mine... kind of._

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><p>9:31 Dragon, 7 Guardian: Gamlen's hovel, Lowtown<p>

There was so much about my parting with Anders last night that made me uneasy. Why did he follow me? Even if I had slept with Isabela, why would he care? Why did the thought of Anders stalking me bother me so little? The only way I was going to get answers to those questions was to ask him. And to do that, I needed to talk to him, which I could not do from a remote corner of the Undercity.

Anders glanced up when I arrived in his clinic, but he did not look long at me. I told myself it was because he was busy. Perhaps it was true. He had more patients than I had yet seen in his clinic, but he had not even a smile to spare for me. I know I deserved his coolness, but it still hurt. I washed my hands and went to help him. As on my previous visit, he would not let me use magic here. "Better the templars should find only one mage," he had said at the time, but he offered no protest when I set to work dressing injuries and dosing patients with his carefully-brewed medicines. And then something happened to change things.

"Iain, help me!" Anders gasped, the first words he had spoken to me since my arrival. I went to him instantly. He was elbow-deep in a messy healing, a gut injury. Without another thought, I thrust my hands forward, covering his hands with mine, and I poured my own energy into his spell. I could feel myself invading his consciousness; I could feel _him_ around me. The world was light and warmth, the power that filled him, soft and malleable, except where something sharp and alien gave focus to his ability. Justice? I understood. The contact staggered me.

The spell ended. I literally fell away, cast out of a union I had not thought possible. I was dazed, suddenly cold and alone.

"Anders..."

"Not now," he said wearily as he helped his newly healed patient sit up. "Later."

"How did that happen?" I heard myself ask. Our patient's friends were helping him toward the door.

"He crossed the Coterie," Anders answered the literal question, though not the one he knew I asked. "They intended him to die slowly of infection, but the wound was too deep. I don't know how he even lasted this long. His friends must have learned how to teleport."

"Was that the last of the patients?" I asked, taking his cue toward a more businesslike demeanor.

"No, we've three more," he replied. "Give the girl a dose from the green bottle. That'll break the fever. After that, her brother can nurse her at home. She'll be in no danger. And take the baby, too. Just heat some water and let him breath steam for a while. That will ease the coughing."

Two hours later, Anders's clinic was finally empty. It was late afternoon, and we were both drooping with fatigue. Lirene had dropped off a basket of food and I was eyeing it hopefully. Anders blew out the lantern outside the door and turned toward me.

"Are you in a hurry to go anywhere?" he asked, his voice chilly. I shook my head. He closed the door, locked it, and put the key on a table.

"Maker, I've got a lot of washing up to do," he said ruefully, looking around at the examining tables, heaps of linen, and at his own clothing. We were both covered in blood from the patient with the belly wound.

"We both do," I replied.

"I couldn't ask -"

"You don't need to," I said firmly.

Without another word, he passed me a sponge and we set to work scrubbing tables.

"How's the head?" he asked tentatively.

"Better now," I replied truthfully. I had forgotten all about it. "It was pretty bad when I got here, though."

"I thought you might have felt it, the way you were downing that whiskey, last night."

"You could have warned me," I said reproachfully.

"If you weren't going to listen to Varric, why would you listen to me?" he asked with light accusation in his voice.

"I trust you," I answered simply. "I trust Varric, too, but it's not the same."

"Because we're both mages?" he asked, irony creeping into his tone.

"Because of this," I covered his hand with my own again. The connection this time was barely a ghost of our earlier rapport, but it was still perceptible. He shook his head slightly and stepped away.

"Did you enjoy your first taste of pirate treasure?" His bitterness was like acid.

"I couldn't do it."

He snorted.

"Unfortunate, but hardly surprising, considering how much you drank."

"No," I said, suddenly feeling a lot more bashful than I had a moment before. "It wasn't that. I never went in. She's not the one I want. She... manipulates me. She plays me like a harp, but there's nothing there. It's not like -"

"Iain, don't." His lips protested, but the tension drained from his body in a flood. He looked more tired, but far happier. His eyes met mine and he smiled. My soul healed.

"Let's wash up and eat," I suggested.

"I've got some clothes you can borrow," he ventured. "Don't know if they'll fit."

"Won't know unless we try!" I replied with a grin, my heart leaping at the chance to cover myself in his things.

"Let's get clean first," he said, undoing the fastenings on his coat. "There's more water in that barrel. It's cold, but it's clean."

"Cold water is probably a good idea," I agreed. He smiled again, but said nothing else.

Neither of us stripped completely. As our smallclothes were not bloody, there was no need. I would have appreciated the opportunity of seeing him naked, but I was just as glad not to subject myself to his scrutiny in return. I am not ashamed of my physique, but it would have been awkward explaining the effect his body was having on me. He was just as I thought he would be: lithe, pale, and slender, with a downy trail of ginger hair descending from his navel into the secret places of his breeches. I found myself mesmerized by the sight of smooth ivory skin gliding over taut, lean muscles. I was staring, and there was nothing I could do to stop myself. He cleared his throat.

"You missed some," I said, pointing to his collarbone.

"So did you," he replied, stepping closer and running his sponge across my chest. "You're more muscular than I thought you would be."

"Comes from using my staff as a club so much," I explained, struggling to swallow past the tightness that was building in my throat. How did he expect me to ignore this? I stepped closer toward him and dropped my arms to encircle his waist. Our bodies did not touch, but the air between us was a living thing, crackling with tension.

"Iain, no," he said, stepping away again. "I can't. Not like this."

"Did you feel it, when I helped you before?" I asked.

"Yes," he said. "That was why I didn't want you to help with the healing. Well, that and the templars. Once you've been that close to someone, it's hard to step back. I wouldn't have asked, but he'd have died if I didn't."

"I understand," I said, and found that I did. "I just wanted to know that it wasn't just me."

"It isn't just you," he said, bending to pull some clothing out of a chest. "Here, see if anything fits you. You're a lot broader than me."

Anders dressed himself in a slightly more tattered version of his usual attire. His leggings fit me surprisingly well. As for his shirts, I found one that did not bind too badly across the chest. The neck gaped open horribly, but Anders did not complain.

"It's just to get you home," he said with a grin. "Shall we see what Lirene brought for us?"

I could not have agreed with more enthusiasm. Lirene had been generous. The basket was stuffed with all manner of good things: meat pies, part of a cured ham, a flask of wine, fresh fruit, a cheese still bearing the stamp of a Ferelden dairy, soft bread and butter, a small loaf of honey cake. We ate like kings.

"Does Lirene always take such good care of you?" I asked.

"She tries," he answered around a mouthful of cheese. "It isn't always this good, though, or this much. Someone must have put a lot of coin in the donations box."

"Is that how you feed yourself?"

"Some of my patients do pay me. Mostly in produce that didn't sell at the market, but it's food. Lirene sends down the best of what she gets, though. There are times when it's excellent, as you can see."

We made pleasant conversation for the rest of the meal. Now that we had banished our demons, it was easier to talk. I still wanted him, and if he would have offered, I would not have refused him, but we were friends again. That was more important than anything else.

"What do I do with Isabela?" I asked once we were done eating.

"That's up to you, isn't it?" he replied, a hint of his earlier coldness returning.

"No, I don't mean like that," I sighed. "I don't want her and I won't bed her, but I'm still mortal. If she goes to the well and turns the crank, the bucket will rise."

"Then it rises," he said with a satisfied smirk. "You are mortal, as you say, so she won't be surprised by that. The trick with Isabela is to treat her like a person. Once you stop thinking of her as an object, she loses her ability to control you."

"How am I supposed to do that?" It sounded impossible.

"Spend time with her. Bring Varric along, if it helps, or me." What he was saying made a lot of sense.

"Will you come with me tonight?" I asked. "To the Hanged Man, I mean. She's staying there, and I'd feel better if I knew I could resist her."

What I meant was, I'll feel better if you knew I can resist her. It didn't need to be said.

"I'll do anything you want," he said happily. He was lying, but this was no time to point that out. "You'll have to go home and change first, though. One look at that chest and she won't be able to keep her hands off you."

"I'll introduce you to my family," I laughed. "Carver, you've met, but my mother will love you. She's a kind soul, and she's good to apostates."

"I like her already!" Anders grinned. "It's a pity my good coat is soiled."

"She won't care what you're wearing," I dismissed his concern. "But my uncle... it's probably too much to hope that he won't be home."

"He doesn't like mages?"

"It's a bit more complicated than that," I explained. "Gamlen always resented my mother, from the time when they were children. He was jealous of her power over my grandparents. When she eloped with an apostate, he danced for joy. And when they forgave her, he was shattered. Enough to steal her inheritance. Ill-gotten gains never last, though. He lost it all and is living in Lowtown."

"So, kind of like Carver, then," Anders said with a scowl.

"No, nothing like Carver," I said loyally, though he might have had a point. "Carver is..."

"Envious of your ability?" Anders suggested. "Jealous of your mother's affection? Resentful of your good looks?"

"Now I know you're joking!" I laughed. "I do own a looking glass."

"Then you should use it more often," he said solemnly, laying a hand across mine. "You're unfair to yourself, Iain, and you know which part of me hates to hear that. Your soul may be more beautiful than your body, but give credit where it's due. Carver's got nothing on you when it comes to your eyes, and I would know."

I yearned to kiss him, but I could not. He would never allow it. I settled for leading him to Gamlen's house, where he was warmly received by my mother and grunted at by Gamlen.

It did my heart good to see my mother fuss over Anders. She tried to feed him again, and fretted over the state of his cloak. He positively glowed at the attention. She bullied him into accepting some of my father's old tunics. There were no use to her, she said, and they fit Anders well. Father was slimmer than either Carver or I, evidently, and it gave her joy to see someone make use of them. Why she had brought them from Lothering when we were fleeing for our lives, I might never know. Remembering how heavy my pack had been when she handed it to me, I wondered how many more family treasures escaped the Blight, but seeing the delighted bewilderment on Anders's face made it all worthwhile. I would have carried it all again and more, knowing that he would rejoice so at finding acceptance in my family. Unfortunately, Mother did not seem to favor our removal to the Hanged Man. She wanted Anders to read all of my father's old letters to her, and explain why the Chantry was so harsh on mages. She did not understand why it had to be that way, and wondered why her children could not be accepted for what they were, instead of being forced to hide their talents and practice in secret. For his part, Anders warmed to the challenge, though he might have annoyed Carver and Gamlen in the process. It was no loss, though. It was not as if Gamlen or Carver would betray us. They just had to endure an evening of talking about Father, and Mother's mage children. Carver might have plotted murder, but he would never act on it.

It was approaching midnight when we were finally able to escape the family circle and make the short walk to the Hanged Man. We found Varric entertaining a group of onlookers with embellished tales of Hayder's demise and our general defeat against slavers. Bianca, Varric's crossbow, featured prominently. He cut short the story when he saw us, however, and poked Isabela into attention. She had been drinking, apparently, and was less keen on seduction than she was the day before. Yesterday, she was a siren, luring me with pleasures untold. Today, she seemed a harpy, bent on boring me with exaggeration of her own importance. It was probably just me, I realized. She was still the same. Her breasts were just as large as they had been yesterday, and her waist, just as narrow. Her thighs were no less... well, I did not really need to think about her thighs. I was doing so well. The point was, knowing was more than half the battle. My talk with Anders had grounded me, made me realize what I did and did not want, and Isabela was definitely in the latter category. It was not that she was unlovely in any way. Far from it! It was just that she was was cake and I wanted cheese. The fact that cheese was not available, figuratively speaking, did not increase my desire for cake. Nor decrease my inclination toward cheese, a comparison Anders would definitely not have appreciated.

The point was that I was free. I could laugh at Isabela's innuendo and feel no guilt for having laughed. I could watch Carver's pathetic attempts at eliciting the kind of flirtation she had indulged with me yesterday and feel sorry for him. I did not need to get drunk to appreciate the attention she still lavished upon me, nor did I imagine it as more than it was. I was her protection. When she flirted with me, she was alluring, yet safe against less ethical predators. Now, it all made sense. I wondered why it had been such a mystery earlier. And then I mentally slapped myself for being an idiot. Everything made sense, in hindsight.

Anders seemed pleased at my newfound confidence. He still bristled a little when Isabela and I took our flatteries too far, but when I returned to our table and put my hand on his knee where no one could see it, he smiled as if his world began and ended with my approval. It was disturbing, in a way, to know that his happiness was so dependant on my acceptance of him, but the feeling was mutual, so perhaps it was alright.

Tomorrow will bring a new set of challenges, and eventually, I must answer Meeran's prompts about a dwarf named Anso, but today, with the rift between Anders and I mended, life is good.


	7. Chapter 7: Grey Day

_AN: This fanfic makes no claims of accurate characterization of game personae or portrayal of game events. Dragon Age II and all characters except Iain are owned by BioWare. Iain is mine... kind of._

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><p>9:31 Dragon, 8 Guardian: Gamlen's hovel, Lowtown<p>

The letter arrived a day or two ago. I had avoided reading it. I loathed Meeran and made no secret about it. I had done things for him that made me pray for my soul. Even Carver had gone off him, and that took some doing. So, not surprisingly, my first action upon noticing his handwriting on Gamlen's hall table was to count my family members. And then look for Peaches. Once everyone was accounted for, I opened the letter.

"Heard you were hard up for cash," Meeran wrote. "Serves you right for being such a dick about leaving, but it's no skin off my nose. Anyway, there's a dwarf named Anso with a problem about trade goods. I'd take it myself, but we're busy these days, no thanks to you. Take it or leave it, the job's in the Lowtown Bazaar, by the stairs up to the Hanged man. He's there at night. If you're fair, you'll pay me a finder's fee. Meeran."

I put the letter aside, at first. I have had enough of Meeran to last several lifetimes. On the other had, we did need coin. Could I really decline it when it all but fell into my lap? And did I have anything better to do? Well, I had promised Aveline that I would help her look into a possible ambush, and I had an outstanding debt with the witch who rescued my family from darkspawn on our flight from Lothering, but those things would involve leaving Kirkwall for a time. Was my relationship with Anders secure enough to leave him for a day or more? What a question! I have known him six days. What is he, to have wrapped himself around my heart so quickly? Then again, I have known Varric only eight days or so, and I consider him a friend. I am probably too trusting.

That left the question of what to do until the sun went down. The obvious answer was to go visit Anders. After checking to see if Varric was available to talk to Anso, that is. And I should ask Carver. That was easily done.

"Are you free later, Carver?" I asked across the breakfast table.

"That depends," he grunted. "How much later? And what did you want to do?"

"Tonight. And it's a job Meeran sent. Something about trade goods."

"Ugh," Carver groaned. "You keep it. Not worth blowing off an evening with Teela for that."

"Teela?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

"You heard me," he said smugly. "Got a rack even bigger than Isabela's, and -"

"What was that, dear?" Mother asked innocently from her end of the table.

"You know," Carver lied, "something you display weapons on. With the sword we got off Hayder, I'm getting quite a collection."

"I don't know if we've got room to display your weapons," Mother said. "Maybe you should keep them under the loose floorboard with your engraving collection. It's nice to see you taking an interest in art, Carver, but your taste is rather questionable, I'm afraid."

Carver choked. I did not even bother trying to restrain my laughter.

"So, what are you doing today, Iain," Mother asked.

"I was going to go see Anders," I said.

"Maybe you should wait until this afternoon for that. I washed the clothing he leant you, but it's still wet, and it needs mending. You'll have to wash your own clothes yourself. What were you doing, to get them so bloody?"

"Anders runs a free clinic for refugees," I told her. "I was helping him with a patient and got bled on."

"Does he, now!" Mother looked pleased. "It's good you have a friend who's so intent on helping others."

I could almost see the steam coming out of Carver's ears.

"That's right, Mother," Carver snapped, "and precious Iain's right behind him, sticking fingers up his bum."

"That's enough, Carver," Mother said firmly. "I won't pry into your affairs, but there are some things we don't talk about at the breakfast table."

"I'm sorry," Anders's familiar voice said from very close at hand, "am I interrupting something? Your uncle let me in."

I prayed that he had not heard Carver's last remarks, but he probably had.

"Good morning, Anders," Mother said cheerfully as if the earlier conversation had not taken place. "Will you have breakfast with us?"

"No, thank you," Anders politely declined. "I was just on my way to the market to pick up some herbs and I wondered if Iain would care to join me."

"I could use a few things myself," I replied. "Do you need anything, Mother?"

"We're out of salt," she fretted, "but that's expensive."

"It's alright, " I reassured her. "I still have most of the coin we got from Hayder."

"I thought you put that aside for our trip!" Carver snorted.

"I did," I said calmly. "I saved a little out for myself, though. Since I've got no Teela to provide for, I think I can afford a pound of salt."

Carver muttered something unpleasant and stomped toward the door. Anders and I bid goodbye to Mother and left not long after. Once outside, I looked up at the sky and cursed the weather. Gamlen's hovel is carved into the side of an old quarry and therefore has no windows. Had I known how grey and rainy it would be, I would not have worn my good boots. Of course, I might have taken a clue from the way Anders's damp shirt was plastered to his body, but it was still early. Perhaps I was not fully awake.

"What do you need from the herbalist?" I asked Anders.

"This and that," he shrugged. "Mostly, I just wanted to get out of the Undercity for a while. The chokedamp is always worse when it rains."

"I had not thought of that. I guess I thought that since Darktown doesn't really have a sky, it wouldn't matter what the weather outside was doing."

"Oh, it matters, alright. The good news is that today will be a quiet one for me. The rain keeps down the violence, so that's more than half of my business, right there."

"But don't people get sick from the chokedamp?"

"Oh, yes, but those who live in Darktown live with chokedamp every day, and there's not much a healer can do to treat it. Those that can move to higher passages when it gets thick."

"And those that can't?"

"Death is not always unwelcome," Anders said heavily. "Those who cannot crawl to escape the slow advance of chokedamp have problems clean air will not solve. Iain, I get enough of sadness in the clinic. Have we nothing more cheerful to talk about?"

"There's Teela," I suggested. "Carver's paramour."

"This ought to be good!" Anders chuckled. "And what must she be like?"

"She's got large breasts," I shrugged. "That's about all I could get out of Carver."

"Well, that's not much, is it? You'll have to learn to spy on your brother."

Anders's comment reminded me of his own activities the night before last, when he followed me to Isabela's room. Now that things were better between us, I was at leisure to think more about it. I was confused. Every time I tried to get close to Anders, he pushed me away, yet he reacted with jealousy when he thought that I was pursuing another. Unless I planned a life of celibacy, this was bound to end badly for someone.

"Er... Anders?"

"Yes, Iain?"

"Are you ever going to..." I could not finish. What would I say? Are you ever going to accept me as a lover? Are you ever going to realize that if you won't have me, I'll have to find someone who will?

"Never mind," I sighed. The morning was dreary enough without sad Anders trying to explain things I would not understand. "Are you free tonight?"

"More Wicked Grace?" he asked wryly. "I thought you had enough of that last time."

"This time, we're playing for clothing," I lied. "Every time you lose, you have to remove a piece. It was Isabela's idea."

"Is someone taking my name in vain?" a sultry, if familiar, voice asked from the shadows.

"Iain was just tellin me about your brilliant plans for a card game," Anders replied brightly. My face went scarlet. "It seems to involve everyone except Varric getting nude."

"My brilliant plans?" she laughed. "I like the way you think, Hawke, but I can't take credit for that idea. It must be the product of his own delightfully twisted mind. So what are the rules for this game?"

"Why don't you tell her, Iain?" Anders said with a wicked gleam in his eye that I had not seen before.

"Oh, very well," I glared at Anders. "It's based on Wicked Grace. When you lose a hand, an article of clothing comes off."

"From what Varric tells me about your card-playing, this sounds like a game I would not want to miss!"

She stopped in her tracks and eyed Anders critically.

"Haven't we played this game before?" she asked him.

"Maybe," Anders admitted reluctantly. "If so, it was a long time ago. Why bore Hawke with old war stories?"

"I remember, now," Isabela ignored Anders's warning. "It was in Denerim, at the Pearl. You were quite the popular fellow, as I recall."

"I don't play much cards anymore," Anders replied, a blush rising in his face, too.

"You didn't play much then, either," Isabela chuckled. "You were too busy with other things. Like that electricity thing that you did. Even the memory of it brings a smile to my face."

"Stop," I said flatly.

"But -" Anders said, as if about to protest his innocence.

"Both of you."

I was angry. My desire for Anders was strong enough to bend an iron spike around, and he had wasted his wild oats in a brothel? Granted, Isabela made it sound as if it happened years ago, but why did he have to pick now to learn restraint? If that was the reason at all. The measure of a man was in his deeds, not his words, and what the deeds of his past were saying was that, despite his verbal reassurance to the contrary, he simply did not want _me_.

"Who wants to go talk to a dwarf tonight?" I changed the subject.

"Did you have a particular dwarf in mind?" Isabela asked jokingly. "Or will any do?"

"His name is Anso," I said. "It's about some trade goods."

"That sounds more like Varric's thing," Isabela said dismissively.

"How exciting!" Anders echoed Isabela's sentiment.

"If you've got something better to do, feel free to do it." I snapped irritably.

"Who put salt in your coffee?" asked Varric, falling into step beside Isabela. Walking through Lowtown this morning was like rolling a snowball down a snow-covered hill. If it ever snowed in Kirkwall.

"Hawke's just grumpy because I saw Anders naked once," Isabela laughed.

"Why don't you just tell everybody!" Anders snarled.

"Please, don't," said Varric with some distaste.

"Aw, it wasn't that bad!" Isabela protested, oblivious to the fact that her entire audience would like to see her fitted with a gag at this particular moment. "He really was much more fun, back then."

I kicked a stray rock and sent it clattering against the shutters of a third-storey window.

"Rivaini?" Varric took the hint. "Shut up."

"Spoilsport," Isabela grumbled. "Anyway, what's so special about this dwarf?"

"Nothing, as far as I know," I said. "We need work; Anso's got some for us. Are you in or not?"

"I'm always up for easy coin," Varric agreed.

"I suppose," Isabela shrugged.

"I thought it went unsaid," Anders added timidly.

"So, what are we doing until then?" Varric asked.

"Shopping," I said with no enthusiasm.

"There's this great hat shop in Hightown," Isabela replied with her share and mine.

"You don't wear hats," Varric observed.

"I think I might start," she mused. "Which do you think would look better? A cocked hat with plumes or... Say, isn't that your brother?"

We had just drawn level with an alley, and in it, a couple were enjoying some private time. One of the pair was definitely Carver, and the other... Well, Carver had not exaggerated about her bosom. The rest of her was just as impressive. She had the body of a goddess, in fact. The Avvars built statues of her, and credited her with giving birth to the world. Seeing her splayed out like that, I could very well believe it.

"Sweet Maker..." I groaned. "Just walk fast. They haven't yet seen us."

"Someone's coming, Carver," the young woman squealed.

"Wha- By the Maker, Iain!" Carver shouted, pulling up his pants, "So help me, I'll flay you alive!"

"Steady on!" I protested, turning my back while my brother pulled himself together. "We were just walking by. And we'll keep right on walking, and never mention this again."

"Speak for yourself!" Isabela retorted.

"This way, Isabela!" Leaving propriety and perhaps sanity behind, I grabbed her arm and propelled her up the street ahead of me. There were some things you did not want to see your brother doing, no matter how much you could tease him about it later.

"Forget shopping," I grumbled once we had put a street or two between us and the scene of Carver's depravity. "I think I'll just get drunk."

"Cheer up, Hawke," Varric said, patting me on the shoulder. "Just think of the bribe money you'll be able to get out of him."

"It isn't that," I said wearily, sitting down on a stranger's doorstep. I sat in a puddle. "It's just one of those days."

I felt overwhelmed. Much had happened in the eight days since my indenture with Meeran ended, and I was floundering. I thought I had found the missing half of myself, but I saw now how far that was from the truth. Justice was there before me. Even my brother was more fortunate than I was. I almost wept to think of how happy I had been just last night. It had all been a lie. I covered my face with my hands and wondered when I had become so emotional. This was not part of my life. Or was this what happened when I let others get close?

Gentle hands took mine between them.

"Come on, Iain," Anders said softly. "Let's go get a drink."

"I told Mother I'd buy her some salt," I said mechanically.

"It's too wet," he insisted. "If you buy it today, you won't get a true weight on it."

"And your herbs?"

"It was just an excuse to come see you."

"This Anso isn't going anywhere," Varric said with a shrug. "Come on. I'll put you on my tab. For today."

"Why, Varric!" Isabela purred.

"Not you, Rivaini."

"Don't tell me you're still sore about last night?"

"Do you have any idea how hard it is to get watermarks out of a silk tunic?"

"Oh, please! Do I look like I do my own laundry?"

"Well, whiskey-marks are worse. Let's go, Hawke. If we wait, all the good seats will be taken."

We never did go see Anso. Not today. But I did get a little closer to becoming a real person. I had learned what it was to care about someone else, and I now knew the frustration of learning that the person I fancied would not - could not - be mine. For twenty-three years, I had consulted no feelings but my own, nor been goverened by any other's past. I had thought of people as abstract things, that existed only when they touched my life. How painful was the discovery that the brush of one soul against the fringes of my existence was the closest I might come to knowing another heart. And how much it grieved me to wonder if they were thinking the same.


	8. Chapter 8: Just Business

_AN: This fanfic makes no claims of accurate characterization of game personae or portrayal of game events. Dragon Age II and all characters except Iain are owned by BioWare. Iain is mine... kind of. Reviews or critiques of any kind, signed or anonymous, are most welcome. So, if you haven't got anything nice to say... don't let that stop you. Of course, if you do have something nice to say, I won't complain!_

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><p>9:31 Dragon, 10 Guardian: The Hanged Man, Lowtown<p>

The day we encountered Carver and his lover in the alley was a total loss. I was not even successful at getting drunk. In the end, the most sensible thing for me to do was go home and go to bed. At least I had the bunk to myself for a while.

The next morning was no better, but I was less troubled by the ennui that filled me. I was beginning to think of it as a blessing. I had been too... tossed about, of late. No one called at the house, and even my brother avoided me, no doubt fearing that I would make some unflattering remark about his lover. He need not have bothered. If he liked her, it did not matter what I thought.

Toward midday, I despaired of Anders showing up, so I went to get Mother's salt by myself. I thought about paying him a visit, but decided against it. Absence from him was painful, but seeing him was, too. I must learn to be more independent. People relied upon me. I would have to face him later, anyway. Mother had washed and mended the clothing he loaned me, and I needed to return it. No debts, that way.

"I need to go to the Undercity," I told Carver. "Will you go with me?"

"You need me to hold your hand on the way to your boyfriend's house?" he sneered. "No, thank you."

"No," I sighed. "I need to give Anders back the things I borrowed and I'd rather have you with me. You remember how dangerous it is down there. In and out, I promise."

"In that case, sure."

On my way, I stopped at the Hanged Man to get Varric and Isabela. The more people I had with me, the less likely I would be to want to inconvenience them by staying.

Anders was busy, probably due to his absence yesterday. He looked at the size of our group and frowned.

"Are you going somewhere?" he asked, his voice artificially cheerful.

"Just dropping off your things," I replied. "I see that you're busy."

"Iain..." he looked as if he wanted to say something, but at that moment, a child started crying. He looked toward her with frustration, then turned back to me. "You see how it is today. Are you going to talk to Anso later?"

"Yes," I said, my voice reassuringly steady. "I will stop by the Hanged Man to see who's around and who wants to go."

"What time?" he asked anxiously, looking around at the horde pressed into his clinic.

"After dark," I shrugged. This was harder than I thought it would be. I did not want to be cruel to Anders. He probably did care about me. But I knew that the closeness we pretended to have was not sustainable. He might consider confidential glances and occasional body contact a reasonable substitute for the kind of intimacy I wanted, but I would never stop craving more. What kind of unnatural freak am I? The intensity of Anders's affection should terrify me. It should not encourage me to try to outdo him.

As hard as it was not to fly to him and catch him up in my arms, it was better this way. Perhaps it would get easier in time. I turned and walked deliberately toward the door.

"I will be there," he said, his voice sad. "Please... wait for me."

I kept my back to him. My shoulders shook with the effort of restraining myself. I wanted to throw myself at him, tell him that I did not care if he could not be with me, that whatever he could give would be enough. But I should not. Was that not why I had brought reinforcements? To somehow prevent me from making more of a fool of myself than I already had? I could sense Carver's impatience to be gone. It would be good for me to follow my brother's lead, for a change. But I could not leave Anders like that. Even I know the difference between "aloof" and "rude."

"It's a petty job, Anders," I said, turning to face him once more. "Come if you want, but don't neglect your responsibilities here for it. Farewell, for now."

With that, I left. It was still early afternoon. Time enough to check in with Aveline. I had promised her that I would help her investigate some probable raiders a full week ago. With my emotions so chaotic over Anders, it would do me good to get out of Kirkwall for a while. Irony is not only a way to describe a metallic flavor. Just yesterday, I wondered if my relationship with Anders would be strong enough to survive a temporary separation. No part of that was relevant today.

Aveline was just going on duty when I arrived at the barracks, but she was eager to make plans for our trip. Tomorrow would suit her perfectly, she said. She would not be available to join us this evening. Her route for tonight was the Docks, so odds were good that we would see no sign of the guard anywhere else. That was just one of the problems I had with Kirkwall's finest. Unless it was Aveline herself on duty, the guard would be holed up in the ale house or the barracks, not out protecting civilians from the thieves that prowled the streets.

In late afternoon, I stopped off at home to have dinner with Mother and Gamlen. I had put stew on the hearth this morning, but no one had bothered to stir it after Carver and I left. As a result, it burned on one side. I grumbled something uncharitable about my family's domestic abilities and tried to doctor it with a bit of mustard. By the time the washing up was done, evening had come.

"Are you coming, Carver?" I asked.

"I'll pass," he declined. "You won't need me to go talk to some merchant."

"Where will you be?" I asked. "Just in case."

"Maker, you're nosey!" he said, bristling. "You looking for some thrills? Because I won't have you spying on me. Besides, I didn't think you liked girls."

"We're talking to Anso because he's got a job for us," I sighed. "I have no idea what that job will be, and with Aveline on duty, I might need your blade. And I wasn't spying on you. You were in the middle of a public street in broad daylight, practically within sight of this house. You're lucky it was me and not Mother. And I like girls just fine. They just don't like me."

"Well, if you need me, I'll be at Teela's," Carver said reluctantly. "She's got a room over a shop in the Bazaar. The door's on the street - yellow, I think. Try not to need me."

* * *

><p>Anders was already at the Hanged Man when I got there.<p>

"When did _he_ get in?" I asked Varric in private.

"Hours ago," Varric shrugged. "Not long after we got back. Is there something going on between you and Blondie that we should know about?"

"What?" I stammered. "No, we're friends with common talents. He's been working too hard. I was hoping he'd stay home and rest."

"If you say so, Hawke," Varric chuckled. "Is Junior coming?"

"It's just the four of us," I said. "Assuming that Isabela is here for the job and not the whiskey. "

"_No one_ is here for the whiskey." Varric snorted.

"True enough," I agreed. "Let's go."

We found a dwarf near the stairs going down into the Bazaar. The time and the place were right; I assumed it was Anso. I was not prepared for the panicky squeal that met my greeting.

"Are... are you Anso?" I asked, pressing a finger to my ear to stop the ringing.

"By the ancestors, don't do that to a person," the dwarf babbled. "Sneaking up like that. You could have been anybody!"

"Meeran said you were looking for help," I introduced myself as cautiously as possible.

"Meeran... Meeran... the mercenary? Yes, he said he would send someone. You'll have to excuse me. I'm not long out of Orzammar. Is the sky always this... I keep thinking I'll fall up in it."

"Bartrand used to be like that," Varric laughed. He did not talk about his brother much. "Wouldn't even go outside unless he was wearing heavy boots."

"Did it help?" Anso asked inanely. "Anyway, I've got a shipment that's just gone missing and I was hoping you could track it down for me."

"You think they stole it?"

"I don't know if I'd say that they stole it," Anso replied hurriedly. "Misplaced, maybe. You know how it is with smugglers. Always so much to do. I wouldn't bother you at all except that my clients are rather anxious for it. You know how templars can be."

"Templars!" Anders exclaimed.

"So, it's lyrium, then?" I asked, readjusting my thinking. The last thing I needed was templar scrutiny.

"Keep your voice down!" Anso protested. "You think we're alone here?"

"What are you willing to pay to retrieve your cargo?" I asked. I would probably regret this. Helping templars get their fix was probably not in my own best interests. On the other hand, money was about to change hands. It would be a shame if none of it fell into mine.

"You'll be paid well, I promise," the dwarf looked relieved. "The smugglers were using a hovel in the alienage -"

An arrow whistled past my ear and embedded itself in the side of the cart Anso stood in front of. He shrieked and ran away, his hands in the air. I turned to see who was attacking us.

Isabela shouted something suggestive about spankings and leapt at a swordsman who had crept close while we were talking to Anso. I hesitated for only a moment before launching a cold spell at Isabela's opponent. I still felt some trepidation about using magic so freely while out in the open, but Anders was probably right. Besides, even if someone did see me casting spells, would their first inclination be to run to the Gallows to fetch a templar? It would definitely make more sense just to get out of range of stray arrows. And if they did run to the Gallows and they could persuade a templar to leave his post to investigate, would we still be in combat by the time they got back? Or would the templar find nothing but an empty street and some odd-looking scorch-marks on the wall?

It was fortunate that I did risk some magic. Isabela was overwhelmed and Varric, Anders, and I were pressed hard. At one point, some axe-wielding thugs fought past Isabela and engaged us in melee. I lost sight of her in the confusion. It was not until the skirmish was over that I caught up with her again. She lay face-down in the street, in a puddle of fresh blood.

I screamed her name, but she was too far gone to hear me. I feared that she was dead, but her breath fogged the metal of Varric's hip-flask. I was just focusing my will when Anders broke my concentration.

"Not now!" he yelled. "Torches approaching!"

"There, the yellow door!" I said, scooping Isabela up in my arms. "Carver's lover lives there!"

I staggered the short distance to the door while Varric pounded upon it. Either I was far weaker than I thought or Isabela was heavier than she looked.

The door opened. It was Carver... in a pink, ruffled dressing gown. He pulled Varric inside and then helped me ease Isabela to the ground just inside the door. I knelt beside her.

"What happened?" Carver demanded.

"Vicious attack by a seagull," Varric snorted. "What do you think happened? I'm surprised you didn't hear it. We were right outside your door."

"I was... busy," he explained, his face reddening.

"Playing dress-up?" Varric inquired with mock innocence.

"Not now, you two," I gasped, trying to catch my breath. Once again, I started to gather my energy for the spell. This time, no one interrupted. As the light from my hands faded, I looked up... into the surprised face of Carver's lady friend. She backed away from me, her mouth gaping and her gaze locked on my hands. She spun around, the sheet she had wrapped herself in flapping, and bolted back up the stairs.

"Wait, Teela!" Carver called after her. "I can explain!"

"Explain what?" Isabela asked, sitting up and wincing.

"If your bullshit cost me Teela, Iain..." Carver growled, but I never found out what he'd do to me if she left him. He tore up the stairs after her.

"Can you stand up, Isabela?" I asked.

"I think so," she said. "I'm still a bit wobbly, though. Would you mind if I sat this one out?"

"No, of course not," I reassured her. "Can you make it back to the Hanged Man?"

"I can always make it back to the Hanged Man," she grinned weakly.

We wound up escorting Isabela, after all. I had been able to close the worst of her wounds, but she needed more healing. Anders and I half-carried her up to her room and he healed her more there.

When we got back to the common room, Carver was waiting, along with his greatsword.

"Looks like you might need me, after all," he said.

"I do, brother, I do."

"Alright, then," he grunted. "But we do the job and get out. Just business."

"Can we go now?" Varric complained. "Bianca's getting bored."

"Perish the thought!" I laughed. At least it was not a long walk to the alienage.


	9. Chapter 9: Fenris

9:31 Dragon, 11 Guardian: The Hanged Man, Lowtown.

As a rule, I did not visit Kirkwall's alienage. I found the atmosphere... unwelcoming, and with good reason. After over eight centuries of oppression, elves have learned to treat humans with distrust. The fact that not all humans are alike has apparently never occurred to them. To be fair, the reverse is probably true, as well. We had to go there tonight, however, and I was not looking forward to it. My initial fears proved groundless. We encountered no one. In fact, I had never seen any part of Kirkwall as deserted as the alienage was tonight. Or last night. Half an hour after the last time I wrote.

We found the house Anso mentioned. It was even worse than Gamlen's, though not by much. All of the houses in Lowtown seem to be built on the same basic plan: three windowless rooms carved out of the rock. At least Gamlen's hovel looks lived in, unlike the place Anso sent us. That should have been my first clue that something was wrong, but, as usual, I ignored it. Varric, at least, was paying more attention than I was. He found the trap that would no doubt have done horrible things to someone's legs on the way by. Perhaps I should say that he found the device. The real trap was the building itself. Thugs jumped out of the side rooms as soon as they heard us moving around. They were ill-trained and poorly equiped, though, and posed no real challenge to us. Once the last of them went down, we began our search for Anso's lyrium. We found a handful of copper on the thugs, a little silver on their leader, and a steel dagger in a crate, but we found no other metal in the hovel. Certainly no lyrium. There was nothing left for us to do but go tell Anso the bad news.

As deserted as the alienage had been when we went into the hovel, I expected to find it unchanged when we emerged from it. My expectations were wrong. A group of well-armed, well-armored soldiers was waiting for us just outside the door. A large group.

"What do you think?" one of them asked another. "This one looks human to me."

"Doesn't matter," the woman said, her voice cold, professional. "Orders were to kill whoever came out."

"No one's ever happy to see us," I heard Varric complain. Under other circumstances, I would have laughed. Now, I was too busy gathering my will for a spell to bother with that. I wanted something big. The air tingled and lightning arced down from the sky, striking most of the armored warriors around us. None of them died as a result of it, unfortunately, but most of them were too dazed to fend off the attacks of Carver, Varric, and Anders. The fight was more intense than the battle in front of Carver's lover's house had been, but it was shorter as well. It was over almost before the storm I had summoned dissipated and the sky over the alienage cleared.

We were just picking over the bodies to try to gain some idea of who these people were when a voice addressed us from the stairs leading out of the district.

"I don't know who you are," the weasel-faced man hissed, "but you've made a mistake in coming here. Men!"

The man's summons was met with silence, at first, followed by the sound of slow, dragging footsteps. Another soldier staggered forward, blood pouring from a hole in his chest.

"Captain -" he gasped, but it was too late. He was dead before he could finish the sentence. An elf stepped over his corpse and walked calmly past the captain. I had seen elves before. It was hard not to, living in Kirkwall. But I had never seen anyone like him. The first thing that struck me was the brilliant white hair. It gleamed in the moonlight... as did his skin. Ribbons of silvery light traced across his face and arms. I could feel it. Lyrium. After the shock of his hair and his markings, his features were almost mundane, though on anyone else, they would have drawn notice. He was the most handsome elf I had ever seen. My breath caught, just looking at him.

"Your men cannot hear you," he said. "They are dead. And your trap has failed. Flee, while you still have your life."

His voice... was... it was. His accent was strange, but that was not what moved me. Dangerous? The first time I heard Isabela speak, her voice provoked an instantaneous physical response in me. I wanted her. This man was the same... only more so. Anders's voice plucked at my heart. This voice hit quite a bit lower.

"I'll go nowhere without the property I was sent to retrieve, slave!" growled the captain defiantly. And stupidly, as it turned out. The human's eyes opened wide as he watched the elf plunge his fist into his chest. The human made an odd gurgling sound and slid off the elf's bloody hand to fall lifeless to the ground.

"I am no one's slave," the elf sneered, then turned to face me again.

"I apologize," he said. "When I asked Anso to provide a decoy, I had no idea the hunters would be so numerous."

"What?" I asked, confused. "Anso was working for you? Then what was this all about?"

He shook his head and walked a short distance away from me.

"My name is Fenris," he said. "These men were Imperial bounty hunters, here to recover a magister's lost property."

"Which was?" I asked, remembering the empty hovel we had just left. If these soldiers were here looking for something, someone else found it first.

"Myself," he said flatly.

_Alright,_ I thought, _the "someone else" turned out to be us._

"They hoped to trap me here," Fenris explained. "I could not face them alone, so I hired Anso to procure some help..."

"To walk into the trap meant for you," I finished for him. "You did not need to lie to get my help. I need the coin, true, but I would have killed slavers for free."

"Would you, now?" he asked with considerable interest... and an appraising look that made me blush to the roots of my hair. "Then I may have more work for you."

For a moment, I forgot about my present embarrassment in the face of his beauty. Just long enough to wonder if my assurances had cost us our payment for the first job.

"My one-time master accompanied them to Kirkwall," he continued. "I must go to confront him before he escapes the city. Come with me."

"I'm always up for killing slavers," I consented.

"Good," Fenris smiled grimly. "Come with me to Hightown. I _will_ find a way to repay you, I swear it."

I cast an inquisitive look at my brother.

"Might as well," Carver grunted. "Teela will be sleeping by now, anyway. Said something about an early errand."

Fenris led us to the Hightown Estates district. His master must have connections, money, or both to live in this part of town.

"This mas... _former_ master of yours," I corrected myself hastily, "is there anything we should know about him?"

"Danarius is a magister of Tevinter," Fenris said in his beautiful voice as if the word told us all we needed to know. Had I received a more comprehensive education, perhaps it would have, but the word meant nothing to me.

"He sits on a court of law?" I inquired.

"He is the law," Fenris said with a scowl. "In Tevinter, mages rule. His powers know no bounds."

"This isn't Tevinter," I said. "Though we should be careful. He may have had time to erect magical defenses."

"Then we will defeat them," Fenris said firmly.

We went in.

We searched the mansion from doormat to attic and found nothing to indicate that Danarius had intended to remain here long... or that he ever planned to return. Instead, it appeared to be just another trap for Fenris. We did find demons and shades beyond number. Fenris took that to mean that Danarius had fled, and that he had summoned the Fade creatures to hinder his pursuit. He left the mansion in a snit, claiming that he needed air.

"Went and did a runner, I'll wager," Carver grumbled. "All this, and we won't even get paid."

"Looking on the bright side," I said, "we've got first crack at the loot."

Carver is one of the few people who sees me as I am. There is no need to be polite, no need for facades. We have dirt on each other going back to infancy. There is no point in lying about it.

"That maul up there?" he remarked, pointing at what was probably a trophy on the wall. "I'll have that."

"All yours, brother," I grinned. "How about you, Varric? See anything you like?"

"Only the door to the street," he said with a shiver. "This place gives me the creeps."

We did not stay long. Fenris was waiting when we got outside, leaning against a wall and looking uneasy.

"It never ends," he said when he saw us. "I fled from a land of dark magic only to have it follow me here. And here you are, another mage. I saw you casting spells in there. I should have recognized you for what you are."

"And what is that?" I countered, stepping closer. I had been used as bait, lied to, and manipulated by this elf. An elf who now spoke of me as if of a monster. Beautiful eyes will only buy so much forbearance.

"You tell me!" he retorted. "What do you want?"

"What does anyone want?" I asked, though my eyes were on Anders. Carver, apparently, had run out of patience.

"If you've got a problem with my brother, you've got a problem with me," he said, putting himself between Fenris and myself.

"If I appear ungrateful, I apologize," Fenris looked away. "Nothing could be further from the truth. And I owe you. Here, all the coin I have, as promised. And perhaps I can assist you in the future?"

"You didn't seem all that eager a moment ago," I replied.

"You... are not Danarius," he said heavily. "What you are remains to be seen."

I glanced sidelong at Carver. I relied heavily on my brother, but I knew that he would not be content to remain always in my shadow. Sooner or later, he would strike out on his own. As little as I trusted Fenris at this moment, it might be wise for me to cultivate friendship with another warrior. His eyes... and his voice... had nothing to do with this decision. Nothing.

"I am raising coin for an expedition," I said. "I take on odd jobs."

"When you need me," said Fenris, "you will find me here, in this mansion. If Danarius wants to reclaim it, he's welcome to try."

I nodded and Fenris went inside.

"Where to, now?" Anders asked brightly, now that Fenris was gone.

"I should go after him," I said, resigned.

"Why would you want to do that?" Anders sniffed in distaste.

"He gave me the last of his money. He'll have nothing left for food."

The look Anders gave me said "Let him starve," but he offered no further protest. I smiled at what just might be Anders's jealousy and knocked on the door. No one answered. I knocked again, and again, there was no response. At last, I opened the door myself. He had only gained possession moments ago. It would not be breaking and entering until at least tomorrow morning. Besides, can someone be charged with illegal entry if the resident does not actually own the house? And Fenris had implied that I would be welcome to look for him.

I did not have to look too hard. Fenris was just emerging from the cellar, a bottle of wine in each hand and another tucked under his arm. I followed him into the butler's pantry where he set down the bottles and took a seat at the well-battered table. I joined him, though the others remained in the corridor. He selected the dustiest bottle and examined the seal.

"Aggregio Pavali," he said as if it were an explanation. "I spied it while we were searching the mansion. I should have known that I would find it here. Danarius used to have me serve it to his guests. They found the sight of me intimidating."

"That would not have been the reaction I would have felt," I heard myself say, to my own horror. Why must I always make a fool of myself?

"Compliments?" Fenris raised an eyebrow, but looked pleased.

He pulled the stopper out with his teeth and drank deep. He moved to replace the bottle on the table, but evidently changed his mind. He picked it up again, drained it, and hurled the empty flask against the wall.

"This cannot be easy for you," I ventured awkwardly.

"I would rather not speak of it," he said with what could only be viewed as sincerity.

"I'm a good listener," I supplied, all evidence to the contrary.

"To my complaints?" he scoffed. "You _must_ be a noble soul."

He laughed, but there was no mirth in it.

"But you will hear of my past soon enough," he went on. "It always comes back to haunt me. But you need not keep running. Have you never wanted to go back, reclaim a part of your past?"

I scratched my jaw and thought about that for a few moments. I thought of Carver's determination to make a name for himself, of Anders and Varric and Aveline... and even Isabela, though I had best not think of her for too long. I was not acting like a man about to take a berth on the next ship back to Ferelden.

"I'm making a home here," I said at last.

"That's it?" Fenris seemed angry. "You just say 'This is my home' and you stay here? The Blight is over! You could rebuild."

"We barely escaped the Blight," I said, remembering Bethany. "At least some of us. Returning to Lothering will not bring my sister back."

The silence of the next few heartbeats was as frigid as Anders's ice barrier.

"Would you have acted so differently?" I asked him when I could bear it no longer.

"No," Fenris spat, unmollified, "I have done exactly the same. And to what end?"

He looked away.

"That was... unnecessary," he said after a pause. "Your life is your own, and you must do as you see fit."

I waited for the "but." It never came.

"You will stay here, then?" I asked, falling back on foolish questions once more. He had informed me himself that he planned to remain in the mansion. Did I expect him to move on now that he knew how poor my conversation skills are?

"Perhaps," he shrugged. "It is as good a place as any other to pass the time. I would return to Seheron if I could, but there is nothing left for me there."

I felt my patience waver. There would be nothing for him here, either, unless he made a _something_ for himself. The universe did not arrange itself to suit the pleasure of the broody. Naturally, being the coward that I am, I said nothing of this, but nodded and dutifully changed the subject.

"And Danarius?" I asked. "He will not have sprouted wings and flown from Kirkwall. You could probably track him."

"Again, to what end?" Fenris said with disdain. "I would find him, but would I be prepared? It would be his game. No, better he should seek me here, where I can lay the trap for him, for a change."

"And if he never comes?"

"Then I will go after him," he said as if it were the only possible choice.

"You could just let him go," I suggested.

"I could not," he said simply. "I am no fool."

I made no answer. I stared into the cold fireplace.

"If you're remaining in Kirkwall, you'll need firewood," I said. Fenris nodded.

"I... should thank you again for your help," he said reluctantly. "Had I known Anso would find me a man such as you, I would have looked sooner."

I did not trust my ears. Was that flattery? Directed at me? Why?

"I should probably thank him myself," I replied in my best _"Why, yes, I've heard of sex"_ voice. It is actually painful to listen to myself talk, sometimes.

"Perhaps," Fenris smiled knowingly. "And perhaps I should save my flattery for your next visit. I could use the practice."

I wondered if the wine had gone to his head.

After a moment or two more, I got up to leave.

"You're going?" Fenris asked.

"I must," I replied. "I promised a friend a favor and we're meeting at the Hanged Man."

"Shall I accompany you?"

"If you wish."

I went into the corridor. Anders was waiting there, his expression sad... and resigned. How could I have behaved as I had in front of Anders? My cruelty was boundless, it seemed. Though he _must_ understand that if he would not have me, I would try to find someone who would. He had lived in the world! He knew how difficult it was to go on forever, alone and unloved. My blood, which had begun to quicken during the final few words I exchanged with Fenris, cooled rapidly. Anders _did_ understand. And it hurt him. I am such an ass.

* * *

><p><em>AN: This fanfic makes no claims of accurate characterization of game personae or portrayal of game events. Dragon Age II and all characters except Iain are owned by BioWare. Iain is mine... kind of. Reviews or critiques of any kind, signed or anonymous, are most welcome. So, if you haven't got anything nice to say... don't let that stop you. Of course, if you do have something nice to say, I won't complain!<em>


	10. Chapter 10: A Day Playing Guard

9:31 Dragon, 11 Guardian: a mountain pass somewhere outside Kirkwall

Anders was gentle, but it still hurt, at first. I tried to relax, but between the novelty of the sensation and my desire for the event, that was harder than it sounded. I had never been touched by another. Not like this. Of course, I was tense.

"Unclench your muscles," he suggested, "and breathe through your mouth. Deep breaths. Let's go a little shallower for a while. That might help."

True to his word, he did lean into me less, and though his strokes were as slow and steady as before, the pain diminished.

"Your muscle tone is excellent," he remarked. I could not see his face, of course, but the appreciation in his voice made my chest swell with pride. "There, is that any better? You feel a bit less like you're made of iron bands."

"Yes," I replied, and found that I meant it. The discomfort I had experienced at first was now little more than a memory, and the pleasure that replaced it was... indescribable. In the course of my life, there will probably be some things that will surpass my experience at Anders's hands in terms of pure physical enjoyment, but nothing in my past came close. At least nothing I had shared with another person. I was more than a little selfconscious doing something so intensely personal with the others so close, but Anders assured me that they would leave us alone, and indeed, once we got started, I could almost forget they were nearby. Except Fenris. How he stared after us as we left Varric's card game, his enormous eyes full of an emotion I could not quite identify. It might have been envy. I wondered how Anders could be so calm, after seeing that expression on the face of another.

"Alright, I'll go deeper, then," he warned me. I braced my elbows against the table and Anders put words into action. For a moment, the pain threatened to return, but it did not. I heaved a sigh that made me relax still more and shivered at the pleasure-like-pain that coursed through me.

"It's a pity Varric won't let us use the bed," Anders lamented.

"It's understandable," I explained. "I don't imagine that he'd be too comfortable sleeping there knowing what had been done on it."

"I could offer to do him next," Anders proposed teasingly. I knew he spoke in jest, but it did trigger a small wave of jealousy. It was incredibly selfish to desire Anders's attention for myself alone, but no one can be magnanimous all the time. And Anders was very, very good at what he was doing to me.

"I wouldn't dream of accepting, Blondie," Varric interrupted. "Bianca gets jealous about that kind of thing."

"Your loss!" I could almost hear Anders's grin.

"You could do me," Carver volunteered.

"I thought Teela takes care of this for you," I joked.

"From the sounds coming out of you, brother, I'm not getting the half of it."

We were interrupted by Aveline's arrival.

"If you're done getting your back rubbed, I could use your attention," she said without preamble.

I sighed and sat up straight. Trust Aveline to ruin the most intimate moment of my life to date. Anders stopped stroking my back, but he rested his hands on my shoulders, touching the bare skin of my neck. It was almost an embrace. Almost. Fenris scowled at Anders's caress but said nothing. In view of Fenris's evident displeasure, I wondered whether that had been the point of Anders's offer to ease my stiff back. He had been stinting with visible affection of any kind before we met Fenris. How perverse would it be for Anders to do this for Fenris's benefit and not mine?

"What is it Aveline?" I asked, sighing once more as Anders broke physical contact with my body and took his hands away.

"It's more for Carver," she said. "Your lady friend has a very large mouth."

"She needs it," Carver said smugly, "if she's going to wrap it around -"

"Carver?" Aveline interrupted. "Not now. Do you know what I returned to, coming back to the barracks?"

She barely paused.

"A report, filed by one Teela of Beaker Street, identifying an observed apostate and claiming the associated bounty. She sold out your brother, Carver."

"What?" Carver bellowed. "You're joking. She'd never -"

"She has," Aveline responded soberly. "And what's more, there's nothing I can do to prevent an inquiry. I wrote my assessment on the form: 'Unreliable bystander report; uncorroborated by other witnesses; plaintiff motivated by personal greed,' but I could not block it entirely. Captain Jevan will send someone to check it out. You would do well to convince her that she did not see what she thought she saw."

"Right..." said Carver, still obviously overwhelmed. "Listen, Iain, I was going to help you today, but I need to... I need to go."

"Of course," I replied gratefully. "I'm sorry to have put you in this position."

"It isn't your problem," Carver snapped angrily. I hung my head. Poor Carver. Always having to make excuses for me. I was not too worried about Teela's report. It was her word against Carver's, Anders's, Varric's, and Isabela's. Unless someone more reliable than Teela saw me using magic, they could hardly arrest me as an apostate on such flimsy proof. I hoped.

"Thank you, brother," I said, though his only response was a grunt.

"I'd say to wait on the Sundermount investigation," Aveline said, "but we've already waited too long. If we delay much longer, we'll find nothing but ruined caravans and the corpses of honest merchants."

"I know," I sighed. "How much resistance do you expect."

"Practically none," replied Aveline. "My information is good, but discete. They'll never know what hit them."

"Then there's no need to bring a large group," I agreed.

"I'll go," said Anders.

"And what will you come back to tomorrow?" I replied. I had enjoyed the backrub he gave me, and far more than was good for me, but I was doing this because I needed to clear my head. Anders's presence would not help me do that.

"You have a point," he said, his shoulders slumping. "I've got more patients than ever."

"And I'm sure you could use some time to yourself," I added, trying to make it sound enticing. "I know it will do me good to get away for a while. From Kirkwall, I mean."

Anders looked disappointed, but he let the matter drop. In the end, we decided that Varric and Isabela would accompany Aveline and I. Carver would stay home and attempt to prevent the inquiry from involving the templars, Anders would tend his patients, and Fenris would spend the day settling in. I tried to give him a few sovereigns to put toward provisions and fuel, but he would not accept the coin as a gift nor would he take it as an advance against future aid. He would receive it only as winnings from a couple of hands of Diamondback. It broke my heart to throw away the two best hands I have ever been dealt, but I could not leave Kirkwall knowing that Fenris would go hungry until my return. Well, Anders might, too, but Lirene looked out for him. She sent something down every day, even if it was only a loaf of bread and an apple. Neither would perish before my return.

* * *

><p>It is true what they say. You never realize how miserable a place is until you leave it. We were only a few miles from the city, but out here, it was a different world. It was cooler, for one thing. Kirkwall is carved from solid rock, with almost no foliage to cool things down. Out here, there were trees, streams, and scenery, as far as the eye could see. And somehow, it was quieter and noisier at the same time. There were no hawkers crying their wares, no couples screaming at each other from either side of the door to their house, no harlots tempting passers-by, no dockworkers making sounds I should not commit to my journal. There was the sound of birds, however, and insects chewing leaves, which is louder than one might think, and the sounds of a world little-touched by people. And out here, there was color. Not the contrived swaths of hanging banners and bright-painted market stalls, or the garish dresses of nobles out shopping, but fields of flowers in every hue, and cool mossy stream banks glistening in the dappled shade. I found myself wishing Anders was here to share it with me. I chased the thought away by talking to Aveline, flirting harmlessly with Isabela, or joking with Varric, but it kept returning, with ever increasing force.<p>

"We're getting close, Hawke," Aveline announced. "We'll probably run into some scouts, so be alert."

As it turned out, she was right. We managed to surprise the first group in the midst of a card game, and eliminated them before they even had the chance to draw steel. The second group had the jump on us, however. They got both behind and a head of us, and ground us between them as if we were grain. I took a wicked cut across my forehead and was temporarily blinded by the blood flowing into my eyes. By the time I got it wiped away enough to see, I was surrounded. This would have been a good time for Anders's ice barrier spell, but I did not know it. I sent a surge of energy outward that knocked some of my attackers off their feet. I hoped they would go bother Aveline for a while, but no, most came right back and attacked me again. I was able to fight my way free eventually, but I got pretty battered in the process. At least Isabela was faring better today. She fought as if she had never been injured at all. We did win, in the end, but it went on a lot longer than I thought it would. I just hoped all the noise we made would not give away our location. From what Aveline had said, the main group of bandits still lay ahead of us. Considering the pounding we... or I, I should say... took in the last battle, our chances of defeating them were not good.

Aveline, it turned out, had a flair for breaking up ambushes. She led us up over a ridge so we could attack the bandits from above. We had the element of surprise, and by this time of day, the bandits were up against glare from the westering sun as much as against us. We faced more opponents than we had in the second round against scouts, but it went much, much better. I was able to summon a storm to take out some of them with lightning, and a few well-placed fireballs sent the rest scattering for cover. The wounds I had sustained earlier still smarted, but I took no fresh ones, for which I was thankful. Varric had a hard time of it there. He was the one to get cornered, this time, and Bianca is not made for close-quarters combat. Since Aveline and Isabela were doing such a good job on the melee end, however, I was at leisure to help him out of his bind. An ice spell, a crushing spell, and a blast of raw force was enough to regain control of that part of the battlefield. I sent a healing spell his way and turned my attention back to Aveline and Isabela.

Neither one of them would have wanted to hear this, but they worked well together. Aveline drew enemies as if her armor were magnetized and Isabela picked them off one by one. It was only a shame they did not get along better. Isabela's casual attitude about propriety and the ownership of personal property meant that she and Aveline spent most of their time together arguing. Or at least name-calling. Isabela called Aveline a mannish killjoy and Aveline called her a whore. Neither one of them seemed overly offended by the epithets the other used, however, a fact I found peculiar. I am certain that if I had tried it with either of them, I would get my balls handed to me. With the other's help, no doubt.

When it was over, we congratulated ourselves on a job well done and prepared to make camp. I longed to go back and find Anders, but none of us knew the route well, and none of us wanted to grope for our way in the dark. We helped ourselves to the bandits' provisions. What they had was good, but there was surprisingly little of it. A search of their camp turned up nothing worth dragging back with us, either. I was disappointed, but Aveline was pleased. She said it meant that we had come in time to prevent the raiders from attacking innocent caravans. It was easy for her to say. She did not need to come up with fifty sovereigns to pay for the privilege of keeping her family in Kirkwall. And besides, if we had arrived in time to prevent these bandits from striking, why were they so sparsely provisioned? They barely had enough to get a group that size through one more evening, let alone several days. Something was not as it should be.

So, here we were, holed up in the bandits' camp, burning the wood they had gathered for their fires and drinking the ale they had brought for their refreshment. Varric was telling a story about the Hero of Ferelden. I counted two instances of "No shit, there I was," but I was almost positive that he was lying. He's never even been to Ferelden.

"She's my cousin, you know," I interrupted. "I've never met her, but I'm told there's a resemblance."

"You look nothing like her," Isabela laughed.

"And you'd know?" I countered.

"Of course, I'd know," she replied with that smirk she used when she was about to say something scandalous. "She's a natural blonde, if you know what I mean."

"You didn't!" Varric chortled.

"But I did!" Isabela laughed. "And it was magnificent. She and King Alistair stopped in at the Pearl on their way through Denerim. He wasn't king then, of course, but even back then, he knew what to do with his mouth."

"Wait," I protested. "You, my cousin, and King Alistair? And was this when you met Anders?"

"No, that was months later," she grinned, taking another pull from the flask Varric passed her. "It was just Lenira, Alistair, and I, enjoying one night of bliss before they went off to stop the Blight. Though I understand that Anders did meet her later. They served at Warden's Keep together, after the Blight ended."

"Anders, too?" I groaned. "I'm really starting to envy Lenira."

"No, silly," Isabela giggled, "he didn't know her like that. From what Anders said, she and the king were still close, in a very special way. Alistair couldn't marry her because she's a mage, but they're still lovers. I guess Anders was afraid of what the king would do to him if he found Anders putting the moves on his mistress."

"He didn't complain when you 'put the moves on his mistress,'" I pointed out.

"That was different," Isabela replied. She was beginning to slur her words. It was probably just as well we were camping here. "He was right there, at the time. It wasn't as if I was seducing her behind his back."

Snores were coming from the other side of the fire. Aveline had fallen asleep, and no wonder. She was just coming off duty when she came to meet us at the Hanged Man, and she had worked back-to-back shifts the day before that. I was feeling fatigued myself, come to that. Isabela might have slept a bit, but Varric and I had missed a night's sleep while dealing with Fenris's quest.

I wondered how Fenris was faring. Did he feel lonely in that big, empty mansion? Or had he drowned himself in Danarius's wine? The latter was more likely. Or maybe he and Anders were writing sonnets to each other. That, I would have to see! Fenris's hatred of mages and magic seemed genuine and deeply rooted. I might have to take precautions to keep the two of them separated.

And Carver... was it even safe to return to Kirkwall? Aveline did not appear worried. She said that there would be an inquiry, but she believed that nothing would come of it. I hoped she was right. And I regretted putting Carver in that situation. Perhaps it had been a mistake, carrying Isabela to Teela's door. The Hanged Man was not all that much further away... but that would have meant carrying her across a long stretch of road and up two flights of steps. I would never have made it. Still, Carver had missed out on so much by being my brother. True, he had made friends and had lovers in Lothering, but how many villages had we lived in before that? How many times had he been torn from his playmates because templars had been seen on the road outside town? No wonder Carver resented me. He would have had a normal life, but for me. Then again, he would have had a normal life. As a farmer or a wheelwright or something. He would never have become the skilled warrior that he is today. Small consolation for a life on the run, but it was better than nothing.

Finally, my thoughts turned to Anders. Where was he now? Was he up late, scratching away at that manuscript he was always writing? Or was he lying alone on that narrow cot of his, watching the spiders weave tapestries across his ceiling? Had he thought of me at all? As I had never stopped thinking of him, our separation today was probably a failure. Or maybe he needed the space, rather than me. He was the one who resisted when I tried to get closer to him, so maybe I proposed it for his sake as much as for my own. No, that is too big of a lie, even for me. But that massage this morning... that had to mean something, did it not? No, he might have done that for me, anyway. He is a healer. He alleviates suffering wherever he finds it, even if it is only a cramped muscle. My ecstatic reaction to it was the result of my own inexperience, not the result of any erotic techniques he applied.

"Hawke?" Varric said from across the fire.

"Mmm?" I responded.

"You've blotted that same page four times," he said. "Put the journal down and get some sleep."

"Let me just finish the page," I mumbled, but I feel my eyelids getting heavy. Perhaps I'll lie back and look up at the stars for a while. This is the first time I have seen them since the Blight. Kirkwall is too smokey for starlight. I wish Anders was here to look at them with me.

* * *

><p><em>AN: This fanfic makes no claims of accurate characterization of game personae or portrayal of game events. Dragon Age II and all characters except Iain are owned by BioWare. Iain is mine... kind of. Reviews or critiques of any kind, signed or anonymous, are most welcome. So, if you haven't got anything nice to say... don't let that stop you. Of course, if you do have something nice to say, I won't complain!<em>


	11. Chapter 11: Loyalty

9:31 Dragon, 12 Guardian: Gamlen's hovel, Lowtown

We left earlier than I expected, considering how freely we had partaken of the bandits' drink, and arrived in Kirkwall well before midday. Varric and Isabela parted ways with Aveline and me in front of the Hanged Man. Camping had not agreed with Varric and he wanted a nap on a real bed, and Isabela said that she wanted a bath. Though I yearned to find Anders at once, our first stop was the Viscount's Keep. Aveline's captain was often hard to locate in the afternoon, so if we wanted to report our findings today, and consequently be paid today, we needed to go there first. I worried that I would be arrested on sight, but Aveline assured me that I was just not that memorable. Even if the guard did plan to send someone to arrest me, I could walk into the barracks without being identified. Should I have been comforted or offended by that? We found the door to the captain's office closed and bolted. In my opinion, this boded ill, but Aveline was undeterred.

"Wait here while I brief Captain Jevan," she said. "Just in case."

I waited near the door, but I would have heard Jevan's shouting from across the room. I could not hear every word said, but I did catch "whim," "reckless," "disobedience," and "Fereldan accomplice." I did not hear "apostate," which reassured me greatly. The door flew open and Aveline stomped out, her expression murderous. I weighed my options and decided that the best course was to let her speak first.

"We eliminated a band of highwaymen," she said. "Why does it matter whose patrol it was?"

Several possible answers formed in my mind, but I was not suicidal enough to try any of them.

"Something is wrong, Hawke," she continued. "This is not the first time he's raised doubts."

"Shall we find out whose toes we stepped on?" I suggested.

"Those would be mine," said a short, sandy-haired guardswoman. "I'm Brennan. And you're welcome to tread on my toes any time you like. I was assigned to that route, single patrol. They'd have had me for sure."

"Is that routine procedure?" I asked, incredulous. "Seems like a good way to lose guardsmen."

"That route's never been trouble," the guard replied. "Until yesterday, that is. The captain was livid. So I passed off the satchel to Donnic and got reassigned to the Merchant's Guild."

"What satchel?" My ears twitched at that.

"We run deliveries sometimes," Brennan shrugged. "Updates, reassignments, routine communication to the outposts. It was heavier than usual yesterday, though."

"That better not be you I hear, Brennan!" Jevan's voice bellowed from his office.

"Eek! Better go," she squeaked. "He's got me running an order to the armorer's, and he's still a bit touchy after yesterday. Thanks again, Aveline!"

"So," Aveline said slowly once Brennan had left, "we interrupt mail delivery on the day the big package goes out. What does that tell you?"

"It tells me to be thankful that I'm not the courier," I snorted.

"I can't let it happen, Hawke," Aveline said with absolute finality. "I can't let another guard walk into that trap."

"Where do we have to be, and when?" It was folly to argue when she used that tone.

"Donnic, Donnic... there, on the duty roster. Lowtown, tonight. We will be there, Hawke."

"Meet me at the Hanged Man at sunset," I agreed. She nodded.

"You're off?" I asked, and resigned myself to the fact that I was not going to be paid for whatever we had just done.

"I want to scout out the area," she answered. "Look for signs of a set-up. Crates blocking exits, a merchant's stall that wasn't there yesterday. Do you want to join me?"

"I..." I waffled. "I should. I know I should."

"But there's something you need to do?" she suggested with uncharacteristic gentleness.

"Yes," I admitted.

"It's already forgotten, Iain," Aveline responded. "Jevan said nothing about any accusations against you. And while I might not trust Carver to negotiate a treaty with Orlais, he can probably answer a few questions without betraying you."

"Er... yes," I stammered. "I should probably stop at home, too."

"Hawke!" Aveline groaned in exasperation. "I know that you've had a... an unusual life... but this obsession of yours is not good for you. You need to concentrate on what's important."

"I know," I sighed. "I just don't know what that is, anymore."

"Well, I do," she said firmly. "Family. Duty. Trust. These are the things that matter. And you don't need me to tell you that."

I wanted to protest, to argue that love had a place in her list, but I refrained. Because love understands. Love waits. And if the feeling that gripped me was less patient, it might not be love, after all.

"Alright, Aveline," I conceded reluctantly. "If you will wait while I stop off at Gamlen's, I'll scout out Lowtown with you."

"I knew I could count on you," Aveline beamed.

* * *

><p>Carver reached Gamlen's house at the same time as we did. He was just coming back from the market. When he saw us, he set his purchases down, cheese and cabbage, it looked like, and sat down on the steps.<p>

"Well, you took your time getting back!" he complained as soon as he could do so without shouting. "See you were putting that head of yours to good use."

I raised my hand to the still-healing gash on my forehead. The eye below it felt puffy, as well. I was probably sporting a mammoth black eye.

"You were missed," I replied. He smiled at that.

"You weren't," he retorted. "But don't worry, it's all sorted. The guard they sent to check out Teela's story turned out to be an old lover of hers. She left him right before I came along, but... well, she might have waited a bit longer to tell him that. Anyway, when he saw us together, he lost confidence in anything she might say after that."

"Well!" I chuckled. "That was lucky! Good thing your Teela goes for the soldier types!"

"She isn't my Teela," Carver snapped.

"You didn't break up with her because she was with someone else before you, I hope?" I asked, wondering at my brother's apparent fastidiousness.

"No, I didn't. Not for that."

I could have kissed him. Or hugged him. Shaken his hand. Bought him an ale. Anything. But I didn't. I could not belittle the nobility of Carver's decision with cheap gestures. But I could not ignore it, either.

"Carver? Thank you."

"Just shut up, alright?" That was much more like the Carver I know.

"We're going to scout out an ambush," I said. "Want to come?"

"Sure," Carver grunted. "Let me put this inside."

We swept up Isabela on our way past the Hanged Man. She did not see the need to peer into every alley any more than I did, but it was a pleasant afternoon, and it was good to be outside. Though after an hour or so of this, even Aveline was prepared to admit that our walk-through was pointless. Lowtown is a fluid place. We toured the Foundry District three times and found it different each time. Once, a handcart blocked an alley. We moved the handcart only to have its owner run after us, shaking his fist and shouting at us to keep our hands off his charcoal. Another time, we found a stack of crates partially obstructing a doorway, but when we came back later, they were gone. At this point, Aveline conceded that it might not be completely irresponsible if I made a short trip to the Undercity, provided I was back at the Hanged Man no later than half an hour before sundown. I accepted this verdict with due gravity, though I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing. At that point, she and Carver went off to go look at some armor and Isabela went back to the Hanged Man to see if she could wake up Varric. I did not ask why she thought this was a good idea.

Anders was alone when I arrived, grinding herbs for a poultice of some kind. His face brightened when he saw me, then clouded when he got a good look at my face.

"Iain, what happened?" he fretted.

"It's nothing," I said. "It bled a lot, but it's shallow. And bruises heal."

"And you didn't even bother to clean it, did you?" Anders frowned, reaching for a basin.

"Please don't," I protested. "I should have gone home to wash up before coming here, but it was getting late as it was, and Aveline was leading me around by the nose for hours."

"You shouldn't let her bully you like that. Here, have a seat on this stool and let's get you cleaned up."

"Anders, please -"

"No buts. Sit."

My lip twitched at the irony of him ordering me around after he told me not to accept it from Aveline, but I did as he asked. He fetched a pitcher of water and collected his basin, pulled another crate close beside mine, and sat down, positioning himself in the angle between my knees.

"Good work, getting hair stuck in the scab," he chided me.

"Thought it was tugging a bit," I shrugged.

"Oh, Iain," he muttered, shaking his head.

He dipped the rag in the water, wrung it out, and set to work wiping the last traces of dried blood, along with a lot of dirt, off my face and neck. He put the cloth back in the basin and reached for the top buckle on my tunic, but I could not allow that.

"Anders, no," I said. To have him undress me and know that it meant nothing? I could not bear it. "I'm not a child. I can wash myself."

"I want to see what other injuries you're hiding from me," he insisted.

"If they were bad enough to need your attention, I would have healed them myself," I said, adamant. "Anders, you can't keep doing this. You know my feelings. What am I supposed to think?"

"I didn't hear you complaining when I helped with your back," he reasoned.

"I couldn't very well rub my own back." I was determined to pretend that his massage had not excited me. "If you think I can't spot penetrating chest trauma, feel free to follow me home. I intend to bathe there before doing a job for Aveline._ Another_ job for Aveline. And you're welcome to join us. Part of the reason I came here was to ask if you'd come."

"You don't need to ask!" he replied eagerly, though the fleeting look of disappointment he made when I refused to disrobe cheered me more than his enthusiasm for our outing later.

"So, were you going to do anything with my head or was this just an attempt to get me out of my tunic?"

"Since you didn't seem to think it was worth washing, I'd probably better use a spell on it," he scolded. "With it already scabbed over, it will leave a scar, but with luck, it will get lost in your eyebrow. And only time will make the discoloration fade."

"Why waste a spell on this tiny thing?"

"To stop the infection that has already begun?" he raised an eyebrow. "The bruise isn't the only thing making your eye swell. You really need to pay more attention to these things."

He did not really need to touch me to cast the healing spell, but he laid a hand on my forehead nonetheless. When he was done, he trailed his fingertips down my cheek and along my jaw. I swallowed, but the lump in my throat did not go away.

"How long can you stay?" he asked.

"Not long," I sighed. "I really do want a bath. I should probably check in on Fenris, but I don't have time. Maybe later, after we're done with Aveline."

"He's fine, I'm sure," Anders replied coolly. I just shook my head.

"Are you coming back to Gamlen's with me?" I attempted to distract him.

"I really should finish up a few things here," he replied, frowning. "Somebody donated a bushel of spindleweed, but it isn't processed. It may start to rot if I leave it for tomorrow."

"Don't envy you that," I wrinkled my nose. "That stuff stinks like mad. Aveline said half an hour before sundown."

"You'd better go then," he said, a teasing smile beginning to form around the corners of his mouth. "Unless you've changed your mind about bathing here, that is."

I just laughed and bid him farewell.

In the end, I had time for no more than a few passes with a wet sponge. I needed a real bath, but the thought of multiple trips to the well to fetch the water I would need put an end to that notion. I began to see the appeal of living at the Hanged Man, as Varric and Isabela did. Sure, a bath there cost money, but one could be ordered there on a moment's notice by anyone with ten bits and a towel. Perhaps I should have taken Anders up on his offer. His clinic had running water, piped in through channels the ancient Tevinters carved to supply the mines that became the Undercity. It would have been cold water, but it would have been more satisfying than the hasty scrubbing I attempted.

Though everyone was already assembled at the Hanged Man when I arrived, only Aveline, Varric and Anders made up our party. Isabela and Fenris were drinking at the bar when I got there. Fenris offered to go anyway, but even Isabela thought that might be ill-advised. Carver would have joined us if I asked him, I am certain, but he was awkwardly following Norah around the room, launching smiles and half-lines of flattery at her as she delivered drinks. Considering that I was the reason he no longer had Teela to console him, I thought it only fair to leave him alone now. If the past repeated itself, she would still turn him down, but that was between him and Norah. Besides, we were enough with the four of us. I hoped.

My hopes were not disappointed. We found Donnic in a little-used cul-de-sac, groaning, semi-conscious, and surrounded by thugs, but it took no more than a few moments to beat back his attackers. My staff work has fallen off of late, apparently, and I was forced to rely on magic. I prayed that Donnic would not revive until after the fighting stopped, and once more, I got lucky. He showed no sign of being aware of our presence until the last flash of light faded, at which point he sat up with a groan. Aveline rushed in to assist him.

"You -" he coughed, "you're a fine sight to wake up to!"

"Donnic?" Aveline's voice had never been gentler. I very nearly snorted out loud.

"They came out of nowhere," Donnic said, making an obvious effort to sound more professional. "They were too many. I took out a few, but the rest... ahem."

This was guard business. Or possibly personal. Either way, I had no right to intrude. I bent to retrieve the satchel instead... and fumbled it, spilling its contents across the pavement. Anders stooped to help me collect it.

"This is the viscount's seal!" he observed. "City accounts, confidential files, pay vouchers with the address left blank. Somebody's been naughty."

"Your Jevan should run for office," I joked. "He's already got half the city on his tab."

"This isn't the time, Hawke," Aveline said sternly. She took the satchel from Anders with a jerk. "We're going straight to the seneschal with this. The viscount needs to see what's been done behind his back."

"We'd better see your friend back to the barracks," Anders reminded her, sliding his hand under the elbow of the tottering guard. "He took a stout blow to the head, from the looks of it."

"Wouldn't do to save him from thieves only to have him fall into the harbor," I concurred.

"My patrol -" Donnic began to protest.

"Leave it, guardsman," Aveline's voice held the hint of steel I had learned not to contradict. If Donnic were sensible, he would not, either. "I will return and finish your route once we've made our report."

Donnic complied without further comment. The world is full of people wiser than myself, it seems.

The Viscount's Keep was quiet when we arrived, hardly a surprise, given the hour. Two guards flanked the door, as always, but they ignored our party, as if Aveline's arrival at this unusual hour were commonplace. It probably was. Seneschal Bran was not on the premises, we were informed, but if we would be so good as to leave a message, his assistant would see that he received it upon his return. I almost felt sorry for the man. A few moments later, after the most intense brow-beating I have ever witnessed, the seneschal's assistant took off at a run to retrieve his employer, leaving us to wait in whatever comfort a room with only two chairs could provide. We put Donnic in one and Varric commandeered the other. Anders and I passed the time by examining the bookshelves.

The seneschal himself arrived half an hour later, smelling of wine and of cloying perfume. His improperly fastened doublet suggested that Aveline's summons might indeed have reached him at an unfortunate time. He was younger than I thought he would be, and far more handsome, with thick, unruly auburn hair. And he was visibly annoyed.

"There had better be a good reason for this disturbance." I had not seen ice since coming to Kirkwall, but I found that I did not miss it as much as I thought I would. Hearing it in the seneschal's voice made me glad that I was not Aveline, although she herself was unfazed.

"These documents left Captain Jevan's office this afternoon," she informed him. "Read them yourself."

Seneschal Bran began to read.

"So," I said as we made our way back to Lowtown, "we got some silver off Donnic's thugs, anyway. Who's up for an ale at the Hanged Man?"

"I promised Donnic that I'd complete his patrol," Aveline reminded me. "Not that I expect you to be bound by my word."

But she did, of course, and the rest of us knew it. We reached the Hanged Man eventually, but it was considerably later... and our purses were considerably fatter from the coin we took off the various cutpurses, burglars, and muggers we met in the interval. As usual these days, Aveline decided not to join us at the tavern, but we went in without her. Carver was sitting by himself when we arrived, gazing forlornly into his empty mug.

"And how was your night?" I asked conversationally as I sat down beside him and gestured to Norah to bring a pitcher of ale.

"Why aren't there more women in Kirkwall?" Carver complained in answer, his voice slurred with drink.

"They're all hiding from you, Junior," Varric chuckled. Carver only sighed and slumped even more on his stool.

I began to tell him of our adventures, but did not get far before I realized that he was in no mood to hear them. His evening had not been productive, it seemed. Norah had told him in no uncertain terms that he had better sit down, drink his ale, and leave her alone or she would have him thrown out. She chose that moment to bring our drinks.

"Here, Hawke," she said, placing a wet cloth in my hand and raising both to my blackened eye. "Put this on it until the swelling goes down."

Carver was indignant at her kindness to me. He started to get up from the table, but evidently changed his mind. He sat down again with a grunt and a scowl.

"If you had any decency at all, you wouldn't let her do that," he glowered.

"She only does it because I'm harmless," I sighed as convincingly as I could, kicking Varric under the table to stifle the laughter he was about to let loose. "If I had your build, she wouldn't come near me."

"Do you really think so?" Carver asked anxiously, puffing out his chest and looking to see if Norah noticed.

"Absolutely," Varric replied with a perfectly straight face. "She gets flustered around handsome men and then gets the drink orders wrong. Corff takes a dim view of that."

"Well!" Carver beamed. "That explains a few things."

"Just don't let on that you know," Varric continued, well past the need for prompting. "You'll only embarrass her."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Carver reassured him solemnly. "So how did it go with Aveline? Did her suspicions pan out?"

He put a few too many S's in "suspicions," but nobody laughed, for which I was grateful. I told him the whole story this time, right up to the part where we would not get paid until the investigation was complete.

"Where are Fenris and Isabela?" I asked at last.

"Fenris went home right after you left," Carver explained, refilling his mug from the pitcher Norah brought. "Said something about a headache. And who knows where Isabela got to? She was here for a while, but it wasn't my turn to watch her."

We drank in silence. Which is to say that we listened to Varric. Carver had descended into a quiet, broody intoxication and Anders was nodding in his chair. He refused every ale after the first, so he could not be drunk, but I worried about him finding his way through the Undercity, exhausted and alone.

"Do you think you can do something, Varric?" I asked softly.

"Sure," Varric shrugged. "I'll get someone to set up a cot for him in my room. No sense in sending him all the way to the clinic and coming right back again in the morning. You do have plans for tomorrow, I take it?"

"I thought we'd go return the Witch's amulet," I nodded. That, and I had a sudden strong desire to go stargazing with Anders. "This debt has been hanging over us long enough."

"Good plan," Carver grunted. "Get out of Kirkwall for a bit."

"Are we going somewhere?" Anders jerked awake.

"You're going to bed," Varric replied, casually helping the taller man to his feet. "And we're getting an early start, so you'll have to stay here tonight. Come on, let's tottle off and find a place for you to sleep. Good night, Hawk. Junior."

And good night, journal. It has been a long, tiring day. It is good to have friends. And family. There are times when they drive me mad, but I would surely be lost without them.


	12. Chapter 12: Up Sundermount

_AN: This turned out to be longer than I thought it would be, and it does little to advance the story, so I won't mind if you skip it. Life is full of these private moments, however, and not all discoveries occur at the base of a quest flag._

* * *

><p>9:31 Dragon, 14 Guardian: Hopelessly lost, Sundermount<p>

Nothing ever goes as planned. If that is not among the Cardinal Rules of Thedas, it should be, between the law that states that distance cannot be traversed by magic and the one that states that the soul cannot be reunited with the body it has left. I woke before daybreak with a headache that made me wonder if I had been drinking instead of Carver. This was not an unusual occurrence, so I could only assume it had something to do with the close air of Gamlen's house. Going outside to sit on the steps helped. It was still too early to disturb Varric or Carver, but Anders was an early riser. Perhaps he would be up. I went back into the house, tossed clean clothing and my bedding in a backpack, and set off for the Hanged Man.

Varric's suite is truly palatial. As he is a resident there, he decorated his rooms according to his own tastes, which apparently tend toward opulence. He gave me a key to his outer room within days of my meeting him, so I let myself in and found Anders there, on a folding cot not far from the door. He was curled on his side, his face lit by a lamp on the sideboard. I knelt beside him. I intended to wake him, but after watching him sleep for a moment, I found that I could not. His face looked so peaceful, at rest. Awake, the cares of the world pressed upon him and showed in the worry lines on his brow and around his eyes. Sleep smoothed his features, erasing the years and making him look once more the carefree young mage who had helped my cousin drive the darkspawn from Amaranthine. I wanted to kiss his face. Or lie down beside him and hold him while he dreamed of a world without templars. How could I even contemplate robbing him of this refuge? I left his bedside and went back out into the hall.

"You're up early, serah," Norah greeted me. "Or did you stay, too?"

"No, I just... Wait. You were here last night. Do you work all the hours of the day?"

"I'm covering for Betti," she rolled her eyes. "Third time this month. If that girl doesn't start pulling her weight around here, Corff will find someone else to replace her. "

"It's good of you to pick up her slack," I agreed.

"Is there something I can get for you, honey?"

I just about swallowed my tongue at that point. Had Carver been here, I would never have lived it down.

"I... er... do I have to rent a room to have a bath?" I blushed scarlet to make this request of her, but I was becoming desperate. If I did not bathe now, it would be two days at least before I had another chance.

Norah giggled, which did not help.

"And where would you like it delivered?" she chuckled. "Put it in the common room and you'll be the talk of Lowtown. Then again, we do have a storeroom that isn't used much. I could have the boys set it up in there."

"And I won't be in anyone's way?"

"Nah," she waved her hand in dismissal. "We'll set you up behind some boxes. No one will even know you're there."

To this, I agreed readily.

A quarter hour later, I was enjoying the best bath of my life. The tub was burnished copper, not the coarse cooper's work I put up with at home. The water was warm and went all the way up to my armpits. The soap smelled nothing like the harsh tallow stuff I was accustomed to. I closed my eyes and rested my head against the back of the tub. A quickly-stifled "Oh!" startled me out of my reverie, however. I half-rose out of the bath to see who was there only to find Norah standing in front of me, a basket in her arms and look of surprise on her face. I dropped back into the bath at once, but the damage was done.

"Oh, Hawke!" she apologized. "I completely forgot you were here! I am so sorry!"

"It - it's alright," I stammered, jerking the washcloth toward my groin in a belated attempt to cover myself. "Don't blame yourself! You're working too hard. Bound to forget a few things."

"I hope so," she muttered, almost dropping her basket and turning away hurriedly. I groaned. Another victim, scarred for life.

"I should probably finish up here," I sighed. "Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all."

"No," she insisted. "It's my fault. I wouldn't have needed to come in here, but I was just clearing away some linen from a guest I didn't know we had, and I was talking to somebody else, and I wound up back here. I'll leave you alone so you can finish your bath."

"Are you sure? I don't want to be a bother."

"You aren't a bother," she insisted. "And you paid for your privacy, so I'll leave you alone."

There was nothing left for me to do but resume my bath. The water was still warm, and I still had my hair to wash. There was no rush, though. Word of Norah's horrific surprise would spread through the staff, and I doubted any other would venture back here unless they were certain I had some clothes on. I might never be able to look Norah in the face again, but at least I would be clean. Within moments, I was drifting happily, lost in the soggy bliss that only warm, soapy water can bring. I closed my eyes once again.

Mere moments later, a tentative cough brought me back to the present. Anders stood over me, a shy smile tugging at his lips.

"Norah said you were back here," he explained as I scrambled to get the washcloth back into position, once more too late for it to do any meaningful good.

"What is it with you?" I snapped with more heat than I intended. "I don't mean to be rude, but can't a man bathe in peace?"

"Iain, don't," Anders sighed, pulling up a lop-sided chair to sit beside me. "We're all the same in the tub. And besides, I came here to talk to you, not to ogle. Though if it makes you feel any better, Norah was right about a few things."

My heart sank. No wonder Anders wanted nothing but conversation.

"What did you want to talk about?" I replied as stoically as I could.

"Nothing in particular," he smiled. "We don't get much chance to talk anymore."

"There is no 'anymore,' Anders," I remarked. "We've known each other less than two weeks."

"Is it only that long? I feel as if I've known you all my life."

"Is that so?" I wondered. My brain informed me that our relationship was unhealthy, based on nothing more profound than my intense physical attraction to him and a smattering of inconsequential similarities. My heart... and other parts of my body... told my brain to find someplace else to live, because they would be having none of that nonsense here. "If you know me so well, what's my favorite color?"

"Er... red?" Anders answered uncertainly.

"As a matter of fact," I began to reply before he finished answering the question, "it's... damn. Lucky guess. Alright, what is my fondest childhood memory?"

"The time you and Carver built a raft out of Barlin's fence," Anders replied confidently. "And when it sank, you panicked because you can't swim, but the water was only waist deep."

"I told you, didn't I?" I deflated. "Look, Anders, I know I told you all there is to know about me the day after I met you, and you've seen all the rest just now, but that does not make us -"

"It makes us friends, Iain," he said with unvarnished simplicity. "Why can't you enjoy what we have?"

"I want more," I confessed.

"From someone you've know so little?" he teased.

"Go ahead and throw logic at me!" I retorted, though I knew I had lost. The knowledge made me feel better, oddly enough. "So what's next? You tell me how I like my eggs?"

"You don't like eggs," Anders laughed. "As for what's next, as of this moment, you're going to let me wash your hair. You'll protest, but in the end you'll give in because you like being pampered."

"Aha!" I declared in mock triumph. "I have you there! As it happens, I like eggs very much. When they're still in the nest, with little birdies about to hatch out of them. But if you insist, I will let you wash my hair. Though I should warn you: it's very dirty."

"Not for long," he grinned and moved his chair so he could sit down behind me. At least in this position, I could maintain a bit more modesty. "Now dunk your head to get it wet."

I might have felt some reluctance at that, but I obeyed. I was rewarded with a few moments of the most sensual pleasure I have ever experienced at the hands of another. A back rub was nothing compared to the sensation of having my hair washed. His fingertips caressed my scalp; his gentle hands smoothed my tangles, sleeking them into obedience. Most of my body went limp... and the parts that did not ceased to trouble me. The washcloth hid enough, and besides, with the attention he was lavishing on my hair, he could not have been paying much heed to anything else. He talked while he worked, telling stories of his life in Ferelden. He spoke of happy things, friends he had made, books he had read, trouble he had caused. The water had grown cold, but I could have listened to him forever. He was just recounting a tale of how his cat, Ser Pounce-a-Lot, had mistaken his friend Oghren's leg for a scratching post when Norah's timid "Hello?" put an end to our stolen half-hour.

"Sorry to bother you, serah," said her voice from across the room and behind a tall stack of boxes. "Varric is asking for you. And your brother is here again. Hasn't he got anything better to do?"

"Sorry, Norah," I called back. "We arranged to meet here. We'll be leaving soon."

"Alright, serah," she acknowledged. "I'll tell them you'll be out in a bit. And that blond man was asking for you. The tall one that -"

"He's here with me now," I interrupted her. "Thank you for helping him find me."

She was silent for a moment as she processed that information.

"Oh!" she exclaimed. "I didn't know you... I'll just tell Varric you're coming."

"I guess that puts an end to that," I lamented.

"There's a pitcher of clean water back here," Anders said. "Scoot forward and I'll rinse your hair with it."

Once that operation was concluded, I was faced with the challenge of how to get out of the tub with some shred of dignity intact. I knew my inhibitions were foolish. If there was some part of me that Anders had not seen by now, he had only poor eyesight to blame. Anders himself solved that dilema by holding a towel in front of me, ready to wrap around my waist the moment I rose out of the water. I accepted the offer with gratitude.

"You've got some bruises from your last adventure after all," he observed as I pulled fresh clothing out of my pack. "Are you sore?"

"Not anymore," I replied. "That bath did me a world of good. Worth every copper I paid for it."

An amused smirk crossed Anders's face, but he said nothing. I was tempted to make him tell me why he was smiling, but on reflection, I decided that I really did not want to know.

"Anders," my self-conscious reserve prompted, "would you mind telling Varric that I'll be out in a moment? And make sure both he and Carver understand we'll be gone overnight. I'll pick up provisions on our way out of the city, but they might need to pack a few things before we go. You did bring your blanket, I hope."

"Er... no," Anders said. "I did not plan on sleeping here last night, remember?"

"Right. We'll buy you a new one as we pass through the market. Knowing you, you've probably got nothing but rags, anyway."

"That isn't necessary," he protested.

"Fine!" I was ready for his refusal. "You'll just have to share mine."

"I'd like a blue one, I think," he shot back without missing a beat. This was becoming a game for us. Which, in itself, was rather depressing.

"Varric will think I've drowned," I reminded him. He flashed an uncharacteristically cheeky smile at me and left me to dress in peace.

I whistled to myself as I dressed, cheered by Anders's light mood. It was unusual for him to be in such good spirits. I wondered whether it was the prospect of some fresh air and exercise that pleased him or the reaffirmation of his power over me. If it was the latter, I should probably not encourage it, but I could not help myself. His smiles make me feel joyful, and damn me if I know the reason why.

The sight of Varric, Carver, and now Anders tucking into platters of toast and sausages reminded me that I had arrived at the Hanged Man hungry as well as dirty. Since everyone else was already eating, it would have been rude of me not to join them. After we were done, Carver needed to stop at home to pick up a few things he had forgotten, and my mother insisted on being introduced to Varric, who charmed her at once by actually knowing who the Amells once were. So of course, Varric had to hear the complete history of her family since the days of Garahel, and be shown the family crest and the other heirlooms Carver and I had retrieved from the family vault, though Varric himself had been there for it. And then, she noticed that Anders was wearing one of Father's shirts, so she had to admire how the embroidery on the neckband complemented his fair complexion, and remark once again on how closely he resembled Father in stature and in bearing, and did he really not notice the loose stitching on the sleeve of his coat, which would only take a moment to fix? Both Varric and Anders bore Mother's attention manfully. And then we needed to buy provisions, and Anders's blanket, and while we were in the market anyway, Varric wondered if he could stop off for some grease for the lock on Bianca. The weaponsmith in Lowtown had nothing of suitable quality, so we had to make a side trip to Hightown, where Carver got into a shouting match with a man wearing the Red Iron insignia. The confrontation ended as soon as I rounded the corner and Carver refused to tell us what it was about, which led to some speculation from Varric... with predictable results. My sole consolation was that Anders remained in sparkling good humor, laughing at other peoples' jokes and benignly ignoring Carver's repeated attempts at goading him. Noontime came and went and we were not even close to leaving Kirkwall.

The sun was an hour past its zenith when, at last, we climbed the steep road that led out of Lowtown but we had many hours of daylight left. It was much warmer than it had been the day before yesterday but the sky was clear, with no rain in the making. I had shed my cloak before we were even out of Hightown, and by the time we crested the first ridge of the Sundermount foothills, I had unbuckled my tunic to the waist. I marveled that Varric could bear the heavy leather duster he wore, but when I asked him about it, he shrugged and claimed dwarven immunity to the elements. He might have a point, there. The avenues of Orzammar are lit by lava. If his ancestors could tolerate that, a little sunshine would do him no harm. Lucky Varric, to have a hide that did not burn in the afternoon sun. Carver, Anders, and I were not so lucky. What else could three fair-skinned humans expect? Carver had great fun observing that since my nose was the biggest, and since I was the "pastiest," I must be suffering the most. Fortunately, Anders had a salve in his pack that soon took the sting out of even my sunburn. Carver was a fool to refuse it.

As for our actual mission, I had only the vaguest idea where we were going. I might have remarked on my poor directional sense already. If not, I will do so now. I have none. Maps have always been a mystery to me, mere lines on parchment without any meaning. Growing up, I relied on Bethany to help me out during our father's lessons, and fleeing the darkspawn horde, it did not matter which way we went, as long as we stayed together. Now, robbed of my sister's gentle prompting, if there is any possible way for me to get lost, I will find it. Most of the time, we travel between established points, fixed locations that everybody else knows and I just amble along and pretend that I know where I'm going. In Kirkwall, that works. Out here, where one cannot simply travel up a parallel street to get to a destination, my utter hopelessness with regards to geography is embarrassingly obvious. It did not help that all of our tempers were growing short. It was a hot afternoon for so early in the year, and there was no breeze to speak of. Three hours of following me in circles was starting to wear on my companions.

"So, Hawke," Varric said after a particularly frustrating trip up the side of a rocky ravine that terminated in a dead end, "any idea where we might find these Dalish of yours?"

"She said they were up Sundermount," I replied, bracing myself against the inevitable tirade from Carver.

"Oh, that's helpful!" my brother retorted angrily. "There are a lot of places 'up Sundermount.' And I think we've seen most of them. Do you have even the remotest idea where we are?"

"Not as such, no," I admitted. "We've still got a lot of daylight left, though. We can keep looking."

"I've got a better idea," Varric posited, swatting in vain at the gnats buzzing around his head. "How about we call it a day and try it again in the morning? Maybe they'll trip over us during the night."

"Or... or maybe we could just take a break somewhere?" Anders punctuated his suggestion with a yawn.

"How about you, Carver?" I asked. "Are you done in, too?"

"Now, why would you ask that?" Carver said sarcastically. "Just because you've been dragging us around all day without actually going anywhere?"

"At least it isn't raining," I said sheepishly... and then looked up immediately to make sure that it was not. The Maker likes to trip me up like that. "Let's find a good place to camp."

Our search for a camping spot led us over one more ridge. Still no sign of the Dalish, but we did find a hospitable looking valley with a deep-looking river in the bottom. Varric eyed the water suspiciously, but Carver stripped off his gear and plunged in at once. Moments later, he was splashing the rest of us, taunting us to join him. After a lot of foul language, Varric took off his boots and went in up to his ankles, if only to save Bianca from the drenching Carver was giving us.

Anders and I stood watching them for several moments.

"You could learn much from your brother," Anders said. "He's out there enjoying himself and he doesn't care who sees him."

"My brother is blessed by the Maker in ways that I am not," I answered, turning away.

"And you are blessed by the Maker in ways that your brother is not," he countered, stepping in front of me and putting his hands on my shoulders. "The pair of you drive me mad, each of you envying the other for something you already have in abundance."

He turned me around to face the river and held me there, one arm rigid around my shoulders, forcing me to look forward, the other raised in a splay-fingered gesture toward the object of my instruction. Sunlight glinted along Carver's broad, muscular back as he swam with powerful strokes against the current.

"You wish you had his strength," Anders went on, "but I've seen you knock half a dozen men off their feet with the force of your will. How can mere muscle compete with that?"

"I've never seen anyone swoon at the sight of a large cranium," I observed bitterly.

"Is that all your talents are to you?" he challenged me.

"No, of course not," I sighed. I thought that I knew where this was going, but I would probably have to listen to it anyway. I had probably earned it. "All I want..."

"All you want is for someone to desire you," he completed my sentence with absolute and unflattering accuracy. "Someone does. And for all the wrong reasons. What would you say if Norah offered herself to you?"

"She wouldn't." I could not believe what I was hearing. Anders was mad.

"No, probably not, but not for the reason you think. But let's say, for a moment, that she did, just as Isabela did. What would you do?"

"I... I don't know. I couldn't. Not like that."

"And why not? Carver wouldn't turn down a chance like that."

"Carver is not a..." I couldn't say it. "Carver has been with women before. If it ever happens for me, I don't want it to be with just anyone. I want it to _mean_ something."

"And that is what Carver envies about you," he said, smiling once more. "You have the freedom to shape your destiny, and you have the strength of character to make it happen. Carver has to accept whatever fate throws at him."

"Not you, too!" I groaned. "Poor, neglected Carver, languishing in his brother's shadow. Twenty years old, and already one of the most skilled warriors in Kirkwall. Pity he doesn't realize that even the greatest heroes cut their teeth on petty tasks."

"Pity his brother doesn't realize that he can make people swoon even if he isn't built like a draught horse," Anders smirked.

I felt my face go scarlet, and then something he said earlier sank in.

"What do you mean, 'And for all the wrong reasons'?"

Anders began to laugh, but stopped when he saw that I was serious.

"You aren't just a body, Iain," he said, tightening his arm around my shoulders before letting it fall to his side once more. "And you aren't just your magic, or your brain, or even your heart. It's our souls who make us who we are, our spirits, and until people can learn to love each other for all of those things, it will never be more than just skin."

"That's a lot of parts," I observed. I kept my voice light, but my heart sank. "Most people are happy with a nice smile."

"Would you be?" Anders retorted, chuckling.

"Are you hungry?" I changed the subject. His advice was undoubtedly well-meant, but it touched a nerve. For one thing, it explained why he had rejected me despite his initial attraction. He coated it in honey to make it go down easier, but the truth was still bitter, at its core. And with Anders, most conversations that cause me personal embarrassment or discomfort can be aborted by offering him a meal. I have never seen him refuse food.

"Ravenous!" he replied at once. I should be ashamed of myself for using deception on someone I care about, but who else would we bother to deceive? We take more trouble to spare the feelings of friends than we do of strangers.

"Let's eat, then. We don't really have to wait for the others."

Varric turned up the moment I started to unwrap the food I brought, and Carver not long after, still dripping. After we were done eating, Varric and Carver amused themselves with dice, leaving Anders and I to relax and enjoy the last few moments of daylight. I took out the parchment Flemeth had given me and studied it again, hoping that this time, it would make some sense to me.

"What are you reading, brother?" Carver asked, coming to stand beside me.

"Just looking over that drawing the Witch gave us," I shrugged. "For all the good it does. Can't quite get my head around it."

"Give it here," said Carver. "I'll have a go at it."

I complied.

"Iain, you blockhead," Carver shouted, "don't you know what you've got? This isn't a drawing, it's a map! And there's the Dalish camp, marked as plain as the nose on your face!"

"You've _got_ to be shitting me!" Varric muttered. "You've been leading us through thicket and bog, and you've had a map in your pack the whole time?"

"I... er... thought it was symbolic," I answered evasively. "You know, esoteric nonsense about being halfway between heaven and the underworld, war of the gods, et cetera. Elven mystique."

"No, Iain, your brother is right," Anders agreed. "It's definitely a map. And if this is the river on the map, we're practically on top of your Dalish."

"You were talking about my brain before?" I reminded Anders. "I'm not sure I've got one."

"At this moment, neither am I," said Anders, though affection colored his tone.

"That does it," Varric concluded. "From now on, Junior is in charge of navigation."

Despite my earlier confession to Anders, it did my heart good to see Carver's chest swell at the implied praise in Varric's statement. Carver might be a tit, according to Aveline, but he is still my brother.

"So," Carver said. "Do we deliver the amulet now, or do we go in the morning?"

"We go in the morning," I decided. "It's always rude to show up for dinner uninvited."

"We already ate," Varric protested. "And they might have beds."

"Or they might mistake us for bandits and put four arrows apiece in us before we have a chance to show them our credentials," I explained.

"Good point," Varric conceded.

"Anybody care to scout out the path, at least?" Carver suggested.

"No," I disagreed, although I was far from convinced of it. "They'll probably have lookouts. The way we are camped, we look like hunters. Inept hunters, but that's irrelevant. If we start walking toward their camp, we might be perceived as a threat. Even if we aren't. Let's hole up here and sally forth in the morning. Or something like that."

"So, not in such a hurry after all?" Varric teased.

"I never said that I was," I replied. "The Witch who saved us said that we must take her amulet to the Dalish. She never specified a deadline."

"Then we're here because..." Varric prompted with a trace of irritation in his voice.

"We're here because I thought we could use some fresh air."

"Next time you feel like doing me a favor, resist," Varric said sourly. "Nature and I don't really get along."

"I think it's thoughtful," Anders said loyally. "It smells much better than the Undercity up here."

"The world is full of places that smell better than the Undercity, Blondie," Varric harrumphed.

"Look on the bright side," I said cheerfully. "At least we've got a short walk tomorrow."

Varric just shook his head and began to clean Bianca. She did not really need it, but it made him happy. Carver set to work building a fire. None of us really needed that, as warm as it was, but it seemed unnatural to camp without one.

"Want to watch the stars come out?" I asked Anders.

"Sure," he agreed readily. "Let's get away from the river, though. Less insects."

I spread my blanket on the ground and we lay down upon it. I could feel the warmth of his arm against my own. It felt good. Comforting. The stars did come out, and for a long time, we admired them in silence. Anders's thoughts were a mystery to me, as always, but I was thinking how good it felt just to be with him. I am hopeless.

"Have you ever been in love?" I asked him. "I mean really, heart, mind, and soul?"

"Yes," he said quietly. I had not expected that. I rolled over and raised myself on one elbow so I could look at him.

"I thought you said that apprentices experimented with each other because it was the one thing the templars couldn't control," I reminded him. "It's hard to imagine falling in love under those conditions."

"It would have been impossible," Anders agreed. "And there was no real love involved, though there was affection. It was all just stealing away for a quickie or a cuddle. No, this was... later. And we never even kissed."

"Was it my cousin?" I asked. I was aware that I might be stirring painful memories, but I needed to know. The knowledge that he had felt that way about somebody else while denying me was hard to take, like swallowing too much water in one gulp.

"No, Iain," he sighed. "Lenira was a remarkable woman - _is_ a remarkable woman - but I never felt anything toward her but friendship. She was beautiful, and if it weren't for Alistair, I might have been tempted, but we didn't... connect, if that's even the right word."

"So who was it, then?"

"I promised that I would never tell," he said sadly. "You wouldn't ask me to compromise my integrity, would you?"

"No, I guess not."

He raised his hand to brush hair out of my eyes. I caught it and studied it in the faint starlight. His skin was as pale as mine and shone in the dim light. Unlike my own square, clumsy hand, his was long and graceful, with slender, fragile-looking fingers. I held his hand to my cheek for a moment, then turned it over and kissed his palm. He jerked his hand away as if I had bitten him. He drew breath to speak, but I stopped him.

"I know," I said with mild bitterness, "'Iain, don't.' It's just that I've never done that before. I wanted it to be with you."

He did not answer at first. He only nudged me back down to lie on my back again. When he spoke, his voice sounded thick, as if he were weary... or struggling with one of those painful memories.

"Look at the stars, Iain," he said. "They look close enough to touch, but they're so far away."

"And yet their light touches us, so maybe it's only a matter of perspective."

I turned to look at him again only to discover that he was now lying on his side, gazing at me. If I reached out, I could have embraced him. He sat up.

"Ugh," he said, "my back's getting stiff from all the damp. Maybe I should turn in."

"You go, if you want," I sighed. "I'm going to lie here a little longer, and I've got some writing to do."

He chuckled.

"The way you write in that thing, you're going to need a library of your own to house all the volumes."

"Then I will just have to buy a bigger house," I lauged. "Somewhere upwind of the Lowtown foundries. And then we'll sit on the terrace and look at the stars in comfort."

He smiled at that, and then went off to sleep. I should have followed his example and gone to bed myself. It's late now, or early, and the stars have all gone out. The sky grows light, and I have yet to close my eyes. One of these days, perhaps, I will learn that I do not have to write everything in my journal, but I would never omit the events of today. I might not know my location with any precision, but I definitely know where my heart is. Is it not strange how we care most for those who can never love us back?

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><p><em>AN: This fanfic makes no claims of accurate characterization of game personae or portrayal of game events. Dragon Age II and all characters except Iain are owned by BioWare. Iain is mine... kind of. Reviews or critiques of any kind, signed or anonymous, are most welcome. So, if you haven't got anything nice to say... don't let that stop you. Of course, if you do have something nice to say, I won't complain!<em>


	13. Chapter 13: Blood and Promises

_AN: Apologies for my inability to paraphrase Flemeth's parting wisdom to Hawke and to Carver. I struggled with those sentences for hours and could come up with no way to say it that did not dilute the message into insignificance._

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><p>9:31 Dragon, 14 Guardian: The Hanged Man, Lowtown<p>

We set off at dawn this morning. I trotted obediently after Carver, glad to escape the chore of leadership, for a change.

"Nice face, Hawke," Varric remarked. "Doesn't look like you slept at all. Maybe nature doesn't agree with you, either."

"You've got it all wrong, Varric," I retorted. "I enjoy it too much to sleep through it."

"You're going to have to let me read that journal of yours," Anders said with a smile. "It would have to be good, to keep you up all night."

"That's probably a bad idea, Anders," I replied hastily. "There is such a thing as too much togetherness, you know."

"In other words, he doesn't want you to read what he wrote about you," Carver unhelpfully supplied.

Anders turned to say something to me, but decided against it after seeing my blushing face.

"It's nothing but sunburn," I lied. "I've got nothing to hide."

"Uh-huh," Varric taunted.

"Are we going to stand here and bicker or are we going to go look for the Dalish?" I said irritably.

"There's no need," Anders said. "There's the entrance to their camp."

"So," said Varric, "do we just walk up, or what?"

I shrugged and did just that.

"Not one step more, shemlen," a tall male halted me at a bottleneck in the path. "Your kind are not welcome here."

"Shemlen?" I asked. Carver muttered something rude.

"It means you're not one of us," the cold-voiced elf said, "and that you should leave now, before our archers -"

"I have a... gift," I said, hoping desperately that I would not be repaying my debt to Flemeth with my own blood. "It's for Mari... Marethari."

"You have nothing we want," he began but his companion, an amber-eyed female, interrupted him.

"Hold a moment," she said. "This is the one the Keeper spoke of."

"A shemlen?" the male seemed incredulous.

"Even so," the female said, a trace of amusement in her voice. "We will take you to the Keeper."

"Step one foot off the path, stranger, and it will be your last."

There was nothing to do but obey. We were led to a slim, ageless woman with glowing white hair and golden tattoos. She greeted us courteously, and said a lot of eerie, mystical things that made me wonder if the Dalish went in for deep mushrooms. I did like her, and I respected her position in her community, but had she proceeded to spout ancient prophecies with her eyes rolled back in her head, it would not have surprised me. She soon sent us on our way... after obtaining our promise to take her protege with us when we left.

"She seemed a bit... out of focus," I remarked once we were out of the camp.

"She's Dalish," Anders shrugged. "I've yet to meet a sane Dalish woman."

I cringed as he said that. As long as we were in their lands, we were subject to their displeasure. It did not pay to antagonize them. Anders no longer possessed the filters that kept him from saying inappropriate things, though, so all I could do was pray that no one heard him. Occasional bouts of anxiety were a small price to pay for his company.

"I liked when she said 'There are few things in this world stronger than a promise kept,'" I said carefully, looking around to make sure we were alone.

"You would," Carver snorted.

"Careful, Hawke," Varric interjected. "There's a light on the path up ahead."

If he thought something was about to jump out at us, he was in for a disappointment. We were almost on top of the petite Dalish woman before she noticed we were even there.

"Oh!" she said, rising. "I didn't hear you approach. You must be the one the Keeper said was coming. Aneth ara."

She nodded to us in greeting, and then panicked.

"I'm so sorry!" she exclaimed. "I didn't even ask your name. Unless it's rude. Is it rude to ask a human his name?"

I could do no more than shake my head before she plowed on.

"I'm Merrill, Keeper Marethari's First... or I was. The Keeper's first, that is. I've always been Merrill. Or at least I don't remember being anyone else. I'm your guide... though you knew that already, didn't you? And I'm rambling."

"You seem a little tense," I observed.

"You're my first human," she babbled. "The first one I've met, I mean. What else would I do with a human? Dalish mothers frighten their children with stories about you. Well, not about you, exactly. I'm sure nobody tells stories about you. Or not scary ones, anyway. Not that you aren't important enough to have stories... or that you aren't... er... scary. Just not in that way. I'm making things worse, aren't I?"

"My name is Hawke," I said, fighting back the laughter that threatened to burst from me. "Iain Hawke. It's a pleasure to meet you, Merrill."

"Thank you," she replied. "I've got so much to learn about your kind. And you're Fereldan? I spent most of my life there. Do you miss it?"

I looked at Anders and wondered when last I had even thought of my former home. I have friends here, something I never had in Lothering. Comparing it to Kirkwall was like comparing watery gruel to a bowl of thick stew.

"Kirkwall is a good place to make a fresh start," I said diplomatically. She might prefer Ferelden, for all I knew.

"Well, that's good, isn't it?" she still sounded uncertain. "We should go. It's not wise to make Asha'bellanar wait."

"Do you know her?" I asked. "The witch, I mean."

Now I was doing it.

"No!" she answered hastily. "Not personally. Everybody knows who she is, though, My people tell stories of her. You're lucky, though. Most people she meets wind up hanging from the trees... in little pieces."

Well, that would cover the "scary stories" part of Merrill's narrative.

"How do we complete this quest, exactly," I asked. "Is there something we should do with the amulet."

"You'll place it on the altar at the top of the mountain," Merrill said. "And then I'll perform the rite. It's a funeral of sorts."

"We'd probably better get on with it, then."

We were in for two surprises as we climbed to the mountaintop. The first was that Merrill is a mage. Apparently, all Keepers are. I did not find the news particularly distressing, but I could see that my brother was not pleased. The second surprise was that Merrill is not well-liked by her clan. I found this hard to believe, as she seemed quite charming, if a bit scatter-brained. But whether I was prepared to believe it or not was irrelevant. The hunter we met was too foul toward her to leave any doubt in my mind that the kindest thing we could do for Merrill would be to take her away from these people as quickly as possible. It hurt to see her defend the man, but I suppose he was family of a sort, to her. She certainly seemed loyal to her people. Three times, she said that she did what she did for her people, even if they did not appreciate it. I could not even guess what she was talking about, but her devotion was indisputable.

At last, we reached the passage that led to the mountaintop graveyard. Inside, we fought our way through skeletons and giant spiders, but it was hardly the stuff of legends. The most interesting thing we found, at least in my eyes, was a book on the Anderfels. What it was doing in an undead- and spider-infested tunnel used by the Dalish and carved by the Maker knows who is anybody's guess, but I found myself reading it as we walked... which led to a tumble down some stairs that amused Carver greatly.

"What am I going to do with you, Iain?" Anders fretted as he dabbed at my abraded chin. "What are you reading that's so fascinating, anyway?"

"A book on the Anderfels," I replied. "Odd that your parents should name you that."

"They didn't," Anders said shortly. There was definitely a story there, but Anders's expression did not invite further inquiry. As curious as I was about his birth name, his manner suggested that I would get no answers, only increasingly hostile responses, should I elect to pursue it further. Not every family tried to protect children from the Circle, I recalled. If Anders's family betrayed him, it was only natural that he would prefer to disassociate himself from them, even if it left questions unanswered. I could live with a little mystery, if it spared Anders from pain. Besides, there was something fitting in calling a man by a name he had chosen. I let the matter drop.

Unlike Fereldan and Marcher customs which favor cremation, the Dalish bury their dead. It made sense, in a way, returning the body to the soil, but in another, it did not. Considering how frequently the Dalish moved around, it would be hard to pay one's respects to an elder if they were buried on the other side of Thedas. Then again, Father's ashes were buried under the tree we used to play in as children. We could have dug them up and taken them with us when we fled, but we did not. Perhaps it was enough to know that we would join him when we too went to the Maker's side.

Before we could reach the graveyard, however, we had to cross a barrier, a shimmering field of light that crackled with enough energy to fry anyone foolish enough to step into it.

"I'll open a way forward," said Merrill. And then, to my utter disbelief, she took out a knife and cut her forearm! Her blood swirled up in a wave of droplets and focused into a ball of dark energy that she hurled at the barrier. I was too stunned to speak, but Anders had no such inhibitions.

"That was a summoning," he said, his voice stricken. "Blood magic. Are you mad?"

"I know what it was," Merrill responded defensively. "And the spirit helped us, didn't it?"

"The demon, you mean!" I found my voice.

"Demons are spirits, like Peace or Valor," she said. "No one can help who they are."

"You have no idea what you're talking about!" Anders said hotly. "Don't corrupt others with your ignorance."

Despite my agreement with Anders, we had other matters to attend. Whatever Merrill had summoned, it was gone now. I felt hostility in the air, but it came from human sources, not the Fade. I held up a hand to stop the debate and crossed the stone threshold into the graveyard.

"Be careful up ahead," Merrill warned. "The dead sleep uneasily up here."

_Yes, Merrill,_ I thought. _They tend to do that when you summon a demon on their doorstep._

"In the days of Arlathan," she began, "the elders came here to sleep. Uthenera, the endless dream. But their dreams are troubled now, and they wake to cause mischief with those who disturb them."

She was right about that, we discovered. We battled wave after wave of undead before we were able to finally reach the altar. Carver's face was clawed badly by one of them, but I healed it on my own, without even needing Anders's help. I might never become half the healer that he is, but I am learning. Slowly.

And then, we reached the altar. Merrill said several sentences in a musical language I could only assume was elvish. What else would she be speaking? As the last liquid syllables ebbed away, the air sizzled and was lit by sheets of golden light. After a blinding flash, a woman rose up from the altar. Her face was aged, but cold and beautiful... and very familiar. Flemeth.

"Ah," she said in her deep, earthy voice. "And here we are."

"Andaran atish'an, Asha'bellanar," Merrill greeted her with a deep, formal bow.

"If you know who I am, you should stand, child," Flemeth replied mildly. "Do not be so quick to abase yourself. And you..."

She turned her attention to me. I stepped forward, swallowing in a vain attempt at combating the dryness I suddenly felt in my throat.

"So rare to meet someone who honors his promises," she smiled enigmatically. "I expected to find myself hanging up in a market stall."

"I said I would do as you asked," I replied, conscious of the irony of my words in light of what I said to Varric yesterday. "I would have done so sooner had I known you were inside the amulet."

"Just a piece," she said knowingly. "A little security in case the inevitable occurred. And if I know my Morrigan, it already has."

"What are you?" Anders wondered aloud. "You're like no creature I've ever met. Not spirit, nor demon... nor human, either. You don't feel like an abomination."

"You know all about spirits and abominations," Flemeth chuckled. It was not a question.

"I'm a mage," Anders muttered, blushing for the first time since we met. "We're trained to recognize such things."

"Yes, yes," said Flemeth with a wave of her hand. "Of course you are."

She then told us what she was, a collection of paradoxes and improbabilities, but it made little sense. I concluded that there are just some things I am not meant to understand. This Morrigan of hers was probably another of them. Flemeth told me of her, when I asked, but apart from the fact that Morrigan was her daughter, I gleaned little insight from anything she said. If I could not understand the mother, what hope did I have of understanding the child? It probably was my fault, not hers. She did try to explain what she was. In vague, contradictory terms that probably confused even Anders. Visions and portents, blood and promises. My head swam as I tried to absorb it all. In the end, I concluded that Flemeth was beyond my understanding. Many things are. All I knew was that she was obviously a part of something greater, something I might one day have to resolve, or at least accept. The thought gave me no comfort.

"You do not need to understand, child," she said. "You need only know that you have repaid your debt. And set events in motion that will rock the foundations of your world... though the latter may have little to do with me. Or much. I leave that to you to decide. We are the instruments of destiny, you and I. In our separate ways."

Her face lit with an odd, cryptic smile that held amusement, but no joy.

"Before I go, a word of advice. The world stands upon the precipice of change. It fears the inevitable plummet into the abyss. When the time comes, do not hesitate to leap. It is only then, dear boy, when you learn if you can fly."

"We can't all be dragons," I observed wryly.

"We all have our challenges," she answered.

"We're going to regret this, I just know it," Carver muttered.

"We all have those, too," she said. "Do not cling to regret, lest it poison your soul. When the time comes for your regrets, remember me."

I did not know whether she was speaking to Carver or to me. She turned to Merrill and said something about walking through life with her eyes closed, but I was still thinking about what she had said to Carver... and to myself. I do not want to be a hero. I am not heroic. I want nothing more than freedom, love, and a little bit of happiness between the raindrops. But we do not always get the life we want.

"And now, I must bid you farewell," Flemeth said. "You have my thanks. And my sympathy."

With that, she turned back toward the altar. The air shimmered again, and I was forced to turn away from the buffet of wind that pushed me backward. When I looked back at Flemeth, she had transformed into a dragon and was soaring upwards through the gathering clouds.

There was nothing left for us to do but return to Marethari to report our success. If it even was success.

The first splashes of rain struck my cheeks as we reentered the Dalish camp. By the time we found the Keeper, the drizzle had become a gentle, soaking shower, but the dark clouds on the horizon suggested that we were in for a deluge. I was impatient to return to Kirkwall.

"You can still change your mind, da'len," the Keeper entreated Merrill.

"Dareth shiral, Keeper," Merrill answered resolutely.

"As you wish, da'len," Marethari said sadly. She turned toward me. "And thank you, child. Your debt is paid in full."

"Peace be with you, Keeper," I replied. She nodded gravely and held open the flap of her aravel so Merrill and I could rejoin the others waiting outside. As we departed the camp, Merrill's eyes never left the Keeper's aravel. From the looks of things, Merrill was having some regrets of her own.

By the time we reached the Hanged Man, we were all as miserable as Merrill. The rain came, as expected, and even Varric was soaked to the skin. Merrill was shivering violently, though that might have been due to the emotional upheaval she had just undergone rather than the chill and the wet. I could offer her no remedy against the former, but she accepted my cloak with gratitude. She made a comical sight, scrambling over branches and rocks with my cloak trailing behind her on the ground, but none of us were much inclined to laughter.

"What are we going to do about Merrill?" I asked Varric in an undertone as we reached the Hanged Man. "Gamlen's house is crowded enough with the four of us."

"And your dog," Varric added. "How is Peaches, by the way?"

Carver chuckled, but it was too wet for him to muster his usual enthusiasm for his favorite joke, it seemed.

"He's fine," I said, "or he was when I left. I wanted to bring him with us yesterday, but as hot as it was, I worried about keeping his food fresh."

"He could have gone swimming with Carver," Varric chuckled.

"He isn't too fond of the water," I said. "I know, a mabari who doesn't like to get wet. What are the odds of that?"

"You were asking about Merrill?" Varric reminded me.

"Yes," I sighed. "Mother will take her in, I'm sure of it, but I don't know how Gamlen will feel about it. And she'd have to share a room with Mother, Carver and I..."

"About that, brother," Carver interjected. "You're going to have to grow a backbone and start sleeping in your own bunk. If I have to wake up with my face in your armpit one more time, I swear I'll -"

"You share a bunk with your brother?" Varric asked incredulously. "That must be cozy."

"There's rats," I replied defensively. "And the bottom bunk is right on the floor. And we really need a bigger place."

"Or you could just get a cat," Anders suggested hopefully.

"Don't know whether Peaches would like that very much," I mused. "But I will think about it. Cats aren't much trouble are they?"

"They stink," Carver grunted.

"Not if you clean up after them, they don't," Anders retorted. "Ser Pounce-A-Lot was a very tidy animal. Much easier to keep than a mabari."

"It would get me out of your bunk," I wheedled. If having a cat meant more visits from Anders, I could learn to live with yet another kind of animal hair on my clothing.

"What color do you want?" Carver replied promptly. It was settled.

"About Merrill," I said, returning once again to the reason for our conversation. "Can you put her up until we find a better place for her, Varric? Like you did with Anders the night before last?"

"I suppose," Varric shrugged. "Don't know how she'll feel about sharing a roof with a dwarf, though."

"Probably not much worse than she'd feel about sharing a roof with a human," Carver reasoned.

"Or we could just ask her," I suggested.

Isabela was in her usual place in the Hanged Man when we arrived, and she took to Merrill instantly. It was soon settled. Merrill would stay with Isabela for a few days until Varric could find a place for her in the alienage. I thought that I might be able to afford a room for her in Lowtown, or at least a bed in a lodging house, but she preferred to be near other elves. We all tried explaining to her that city elves were not the same as the people she was used to, but she was determined. In the end, I decided it was best to let her have her way. A room in the alienage would cost me practically nothing, for one thing, and it would probably be less of a shock for her to learn the ways of the alienage before she took on the rest of the city.

None of us felt like making a late night of it. Carver and I walked Anders back to his clinic, coughing from the chokedamp the whole way, and then we returned to Gamlen's house. Carver has long since gone to bed, and I should probably be doing the same, but I do not know if I can bring myself to lie down in that bunk. The thought of twitchy little noses sniffing me while I sleep is really too much. And Peaches is comfortable there already. It would be a pity to make him budge up for me. And nigh on impossible, as well. I wonder what color cat I should get. Does it even matter? If I want the hair to match my clothing, I should probably get a black or a grey one, since just about every garment I own is dark, but personality is far more important than shedding. As long as she gets along with Peaches, she can be any color she pleases. Perhaps I will sleep at the table again. In another half hour, I might not have much choice.


	14. Chapter 14: Social Calls

_AN: No promises about accurate characterization or portrayal of game events. BioWare owns everybody but Iain. As always, reviews, critiques, and suggestions for improvement are most welcome._

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><p>9:31 Dragon, 15 Guardian: Gamlen's house, Lowtown<p>

I was awakened by a gentle touch to my forearm that dovetailed with the dream I was having. Groggily, I kissed the hand that woke me.

"You've always been so sweet when you first wake up," Mother said fondly. "But really, love, you can't keep sleeping at the table like this. You do have a bed, you know, and Gamlen might want to use the table for something."

I blinked. So, it was not Anders that woke me. Still, of all the hands in the house I could kiss, I was incredibly lucky that it was Mother's. I shuddered to think of what might have happened if Gamlen had decided that I had slept long enough.

"I'll sleep in my bunk tonight, Mother," I promised. "A cat should take care of Gamlen's rat problem."

"A cat?" Mother replied, startled. "Don't we have enough livestock in this house?"

"Anders says that cats are clean," I reassured her. "And just think of how much more hygienic it will be without rodents in every corner."

"That would be a relief, dear," she agreed. "But don't tell your brother about the rats. Carver is convinced that the holes around the baseboards are just there for drainage."

"It will be our little secret," I smiled up at her. "Say, do you have any clothes you don't want anymore? Cloaks, gloves, or boots, especially. I've got a friend who can use some new things."

"You have lady friends now?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "I didn't know that you knew any women."

"Well, there's Aveline," I reminded her, "though Aveline has her own clothes. And Isabela... but I don't know if I'm ready to introduce you to her."

"This Isabela. Is she someone special?" Mother asked with feigned innocence and great curiosity.

"Without a doubt," I chuckled. "There's no one quite like her, that's for sure. There's nothing between us, if that's what you're asking, but she isn't exactly the type I'd ask over to meet you."

Mother frowned disapprovingly, probably imagining the worst, but I ignored it. Sooner or later, she would meet Isabela, and she would see for herself why I hesitated to introduce them.

"Remember that amulet I promised to give to the Dalish? Well, that's where Carver and I were for the last two days, and we were asked to bring someone back with us. She's an elf, Mother, and she's all alone here. I was thinking that maybe you and she could sort through some things and she wouldn't feel quite so alone anymore."

"An elf, Iain?" Mother asked incredulously. "What would I say to an elf?"

"She's a girl, Mother," I replied, "and she hasn't got a lot of friends here. She reminds me of Bethany, in some ways."

_Except for the blood magic part,_ I added in the privacy of my own head.

"Well, alright, then," Mother sighed. "I guess you can bring her over. Probably best to do it when Gamlen isn't home. You know how he is about elves. He's usually away in the afternoons. Did you have plans for the day?"

"There are some people I wanted to talk to," I shrugged, "and Varric said that he'd help find a place in the alienage for Merrill. And there's another elf, Fenris, I should visit. He's the one I saved from those slavers."

"That reminds me," she said, "there's a letter from Meeran, arrived yesterday. You don't have anything to do with him anymore, do you?"

"Maker, no!" I shuddered. "I feel dirty just thinking about him. Still, I suppose it wouldn't hurt to read the letter. I despise the man, but we do need the money."

"We aren't so very poor, are we?" Mother asked plaintively. "You've that sock full of coins in your linen chest."

"Rooting through my smallclothes now, are we?" I teased her. "I've a bit put away for the expedition, but we still need more than thirty sovereigns to buy into it."

"You're so much like your father, sometimes," she sighed, placing her hands on my shoulders. "There was nothing he wouldn't have done for us, no matter how much he disliked it himself. Of the three of you, you're the one who resembles him most."

"In everything but height," I laughed. It was an old joke, but a warm, familiar one. I inherited Father's nose and coloring; Bethany and Carver wound up tall and graceful like Father, but with Mother's black hair and firm jaw. All four of us had different eye colors, so Maker knows where that came from. Mother's eyes are icy grey, but Carver's are the blue of an evening sky. Bethany's were honey-brown like Anders's, and mine are almost black, like Father's were. We have a lot of variety, in our family.

"You're perfect just the way you are, sweetheart," she kissed the top of my head.

Mothers say things like that. It is only embarrassing when they do it in front of company.

"If you go by the Gallows, would you mind looking out for a mage named Tobrius?" Mother asked out of nowhere.

"Why would you want me to look for a mage?" I asked, baffled.

"He was a friend of your father's," she replied. "I never met him myself, but your father wrote to him often. I don't want to meet with him, but he might want to know what happened to Malcolm. Only if you can do it quietly, of course. No need to expose yourself just to appease the conscience of an old widow."

"I won't need to cast a fireball to get his attention," I chuckled. "I'll just walk up to the nearest templar and say that my linguistics tutor has directed me to him for clarification concerning his treatise on poetry in the Steel Age, particularly with regard to the _Ballad of Reville_, and if he would be kind enough to direct me to him, I won't take but a moment of his time."

"So, I'm a teacher now, am I?" Mother laughed. "Still, is it safe to walk up to a templar? It would kill me to lose you to the Circle after all that your father and brother did to keep you safe. "

"I'll be fine, Mother," I insisted. "By the time I'm done with him, he'll be bored enough to do anything, as long as I go away."

"But you _will_ walk away if he won't let you near him, won't you?"

"I promise," I said dutifully. "I had better get going soon, though. Varric will be waiting for me."

"Without even a scrap of breakfast?" Mother scolded.

"There, breakfast," I said, taking an apple from a bowl on the table and shoving it half in my mouth while I thrust my arms into a tunic. Mother simply clucked disapprovingly at me. I took the apple out of my mouth again, kissed her on the cheek, and set off for the Hanged Man.

Varric was deep in conversation with a short, wiry human when I arrived. When he saw me, he gestured for me to join them.

"- includes fuel," the human was saying as I approached.

"You can do better than that, Don," Varric replied. "That break I got you on those bronzes must have left you with a couple of sovereigns to rub together."

"Alright, alright," the stranger sighed. "I'll give you three, but she'll have to furnish the place herself."

"What would you do with the furniture that's in there?" Varric snorted. "You'll never be able to sell it. Tell you what. Make it five for the first month and we'll take the furniture off your hands for free."

"Done," the man groaned, shaking his head but extending his hand. Varric took it and shook it solemnly.

"And done," Varric said. "Give the man five silver, Hawke. I'll go get Daisy."

I blinked. That did not take long at all! And the price was better than I thought it would be. Varric returned with Merrill in tow and we set off for the alienage.

After viewing the rooms I had rented for Merrill, I revised my opinion about the price. Three silver a month was far, far too much to pay for the shambles that greeted us. The "furniture" was nothing more than bits of wood lashed together with string, and garbage was heaped on every surface. Mold tainted the air and encrusted the walls.

"Elgar'nan," Merrill coughed, "do elves really live like this?"

"We'll have it fixed up in no time," I promised her. "Some light and a bit of scrubbing and it will be as nice as... well, it's a roof. And we'll get you real furniture, I promise. Come on, I'll help get you settled."

Merrill's new home was a mess, but at least it was small. Ordinarily, this might be considered a disadvantage, but with rubbish piled everywhere, I could only give thanks that the place was not larger. Varric tried helping but the fungus made him choke, so he went to the market to find some bedding for her. Meanwhile, I stripped off my tunic and set to work. Carver showed up mid-morning, with a basket full of blankets, provisions, and new crockery. He said Varric had sent him on ahead. By noontime, we had the garbage out, but I was beginning to grow anxious about the time. I intended to check in on Fenris to see how he was faring, and thinking of him brought on another surge of guilt. Despite the fact that Fenris lived in a mansion, the mansion he lived in was a wreck. It, too, had piles of refuse lying around, yet I had never offered him help in making it more hospitable. Was it my own reaction to his extreme distrust of magic, or was my behavior toward him colored by Anders's obvious dislike? And I had not been to see Fenris once since we met. That, I could blame on my desire to spend as much time as possible with Anders, despite the frustration this causes me, but it was a poor excuse for my discourtesy. Resolving to spend less time with Anders will not work. If a self-imposed separation failed before, I have no reason to hope that it will be more successful now. Perhaps it would help to include Fenris in our outings more often.

I was wondering how I could politely excuse myself when Varric returned, leading a miniature caravan of porters.

"Throw out that old tinder, Hawke," Varric greeted us. "I found a good bargain on some second-hand furniture. It's nothing fancy, but it has all its legs."

Varric's porters helped us clear away the last of the wreckage and replaced it with plain, serviceable furnishings. When they left, I surveyed the rooms. The walls and floor still needed a good scrubbing, but the place looked much more promising than it did when we arrived.

"I hate to leave you with such a mess on your hands," I apologized to Merrill, "but I've still got two errands to run this afternoon. I'll be back later on, though. I was going to introduce you to my mother, but you probably want to get settled here before you start making social calls."

"Please, you've done so much already," Merrill gushed. "I'm sorry to be such a bother."

"You aren't a bother," I reassured her. "I'm only sorry you have to spend your first full day in Kirkwall cleaning house."

"I'll stay and help," Carver announced from around an armful of broken something-or-other. "And then I'll take her on to Gamlen's when we're done."

"Really?" Merrill asked, as if no one had ever done a kind thing for her in her life. If her clan's treatment of her was indicative of her past, this was probably not far from the truth.

"It's no trouble, really," Carver assured her. "Go on, brother, do what you have to do. I'll make your excuses if you aren't back in time for dinner."

Carver's generosity surprised me. He is not usually one to offer manual labor spontaneously. Still, there is something indescribably sweet about Merrill, and she is beautiful, in an innocent, ethereal way. My brother, I think, is developing a crush. Considering the nature of Merrill's magic, that might not be the best thing for either of them, but at least Merrill will not turn me in to the templars. From the little I saw of Carver's former lover, Merrill is definitely an improvement. I hope it works out for them. If there is a "them." I am not always adept at spotting these things.

"I'll tag along, if it's alright with you," Varric offered. "I'm allergic to housework, and Junior has things well in hand."

"Thank you so much for the furniture," Merrill sounded as if she were about to cry. "And the linens, and the bowls, and the food. You're all so good to me."

"Don't mention it, Daisy," Varric chuckled, patting her on the arm. "And Hawke'll make you work it off, don't you worry."

"Don't listen to Varric," I said with an askance look at the dwarf. "He's just cross because his coat is still wet from yesterday. And in case Carver forgets to tell you, we usually meet up in the Hanged Man in the evenings. You would be very welcome to join us."

"Thank you, Hawke," she smiled up at me. "I'll see you later, I guess."

With that, we were on our way. I thought about making a side trip to Darktown, but with all the rain we had yesterday, Anders would have his hands full. And besides, I planned to call on Fenris. The two of them did not really get along. Neither did Fenris and I, for that matter, but unlike Anders, I really did have to make the effort. As it turned out, we met Anders enroute. Our path through Lowtown took us past Gamlen's house, and Anders was just descending the steps as we passed.

"What brings you out on a fine day like today?" I greeted him. "I thought you would be swamped!"

"So did I," Anders answered, "but it was a quiet morning. No sense lurking around an empty clinic, so I thought I'd see what you were up to."

"We were just getting Merrill settled," I replied. "We're on our way to Hightown, but you might not want to come."

"More shopping?" Anders wrinkled his nose.

"No..." I hesitated. "I was going to visit Fenris. I haven't been by since the day he moved in."

"Oh, that should be good," Anders scoffed. "How many bottles do you think he's had by this hour?"

"He isn't that bad, Blondie," Varric laughed. "Shouldn't think it would be more than three or four."

"The pair of you!" I declared. "Makes me wonder what you say behind my back!"

"Nah, we're not like that with you," Varric said. "We'll say it right to your face. Which reminds me. What in the name of Andraste were you thinking, leaving Daisy alone with your brother?"

"Daisy?" Anders asked.

"He means Merrill," I explained. "And she'll be fine. He isn't a marauder, you know."

"That's right," Anders affirmed. "She cavorts with demons. What's one lone Fereldan compared to that?"

"True," Varric conceded. "And he's also a Hawke. Which means that even if he was inclined to try something, somebody else would have to beat him over the head with the instruction manual first."

"I feel so loved!" I laughed. "So, are you two going to go back to the Hanged Man or are we all going on to Hightown?"

We all went on to Hightown. To my surprise, I was able to find Fenris's mansion on the first try. I must be improving.

Fenris did not answer my knock. Small wonder, I thought, considering how long I had been ignoring him. I knocked again, louder this time, but still there was no answer.

"Uh, Varric?" I hesitated to ask Varric to pick the lock of a friend's house, but what if the authorities had found out about Fenris's presence here? He might be in trouble and need help. Or he might just be indisposed. I could be walking in on anything. I decided to take my chances. The worst that could happen would be mutual embarrassment. No. The worst thing that could happen would be that Fenris should mistake me for an intruder and stave in my skull. But it was far from the most likely outcome, so I might as well risk it.

"Yes, Hawke?" Varric asked in an amused "this should be good" voice.

"Could you do something about the door?" I asked sheepishly.

"Of course," Varric said. He put his hand on the latch, depressed the lever, and pushed open the door. "Glad to be of service."

"You might have said it was unlocked," I chided him.

"What?" Varric chuckled. "It wasn't locked the first time we came here and we never found the key. I don't see your broody friend hiring a locksmith to replace the locks of a house that isn't his. It tends to get noticed."

I just shook my head and went inside to look for Fenris. We found him in an unspeakably filthy room at the top of the stairs. Once, it had been the master's suite, but now, it seemed destined to house Fenris's bottle collection... all empty. The man himself sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the fire, plucking idly at a three-stringed lute which he set aside the moment we entered the room.

"Maker!" Anders choked. "What died in here?"

Cold green eyes met mine.

"I wondered if you would ever return here," he said, ignoring the others.

"We were going out for a walk," I replied quickly, trying not to gag at the smell of the place. "Would you care to join us?"

"Why not?" he replied, an ironic half-smile on his lips. He got to his feet with fluid grace, obviously sober despite the decor. He stopped a moment to strap his enormous sword to his back, but we were out of the house within moments. I gulped air as if I had never breathed before.

We said little on the way to the Gallows. Fenris offered nothing himself, and I was unsure what to say to him. Learning to talk to Fenris would take some work, I observed, but I was determined to make the attempt. One step at a time, if necessary. For right now, it was enough that Fenris and Anders were not arguing.

"You take a grave risk in coming here," Fenris breathed as we entered the Gallows.

"Yes," I said softly, "but we'll be careful. They do not question all who pass through these gates."

"On the way in perhaps. Whether you will be allowed to leave is less certain. It seems more like a prison than a Circle of Magi."

I heard Anders draw breath to speak. That was one thing I could not allow.

"You have been in other Circles?" I kept my voice neutral.

"In Tevinter," Fenris snorted.

Act natural, I told myself. No one listens to casual conversation.

"And that's different?"

"Once, it was the same as it is here," Fenris explained. "The Chantry watched the mages for signs of weakness or corruption. And then, it changed. Mages were allowed to police themselves, and now the magisters rule again, as it was in the days of the old Imperium."

"Mages who are treated like criminals become criminals," I replied, momentarily forgetting my self-imposed prohibition about discussing controversial topics within the Gallows. "Trust is repaid with trustworthiness."

"And not every mage deserves trust," he said hotly.

"And you get to decide who is worthy?" Anders retorted. This was degenerating quickly.

"I see no oppression here," Fenris decreed, apparently oblivious to the heavy iron gate we had just passed through, the cowed expressions of the few mages we saw huddled in the corners, and the blank, soulless stares of the Tranquil selling quills from trays about their necks.

"But enough!" he continued before Anders or I had a chance to respond. "You had some purpose in coming here, I assume?"

"A favor for my mother," I sighed. Friendship with Fenris was going to be more difficult than I thought. He did not seem to invite it. I must not give up, though. Respect is repaid in kind, my father used to say. We might yet reach an understanding. My relationship with Aveline had once been adversarial, after all, yet we overcame it. Perhaps it would be the same with Fenris.

Fenris tried to hold me back as I approached a templar, but he desisted when I whispered that I knew what I was doing. The first part of my plan went off without mishap. The templar was only too happy to fetch Tobrius, if it meant getting rid of me. Some people have no appreciation for centuries-dead poets, it seems.

The templar returned some moments later leading an elderly mage whose mouth dropped at the sight of me. With his task completed, the templar fled... at a run.

"A Hawke in Kirkwall!" the old man exclaimed as soon as the templar departed. "I would know that face anywhere. I am Tobrius."

"I am Malcolm's son," I replied, "and I am here at the behest of my mother. She said you knew my father."

"A good man, your father," Tobrius smiled. "Is he well?"

"I'm sorry to say this, but he died four years ago. Since you were a friend, my mother asked me to let you know."

"I am sorry to hear that," he sighed. "We are poorer for his loss. It is as well Ser Maurevar did not live to hear of it. It would have grieved him."

I smiled politely and waited for him to elaborate.

"A... mutual friend," Tobrius said presently. "Your father wrote to him often. Of course, he could not send the letters directly, lest the Order find out."

"The Order?" I was taken aback. "My father wrote to a templar?"

"Ser Maurevar allowed your father to leave Kirkwall," he explained. "Order was not served by imprisoning a man like Malcolm, he said."

"That is... unexpected."

"Things were not always as they are now," Tobrius sighed. "Once, templars relied on discretion to see that the Rule was maintained. Much has changed."

He started to turn away, but stopped himself.

"I will return what letters I have," he said. "His heirs should read what the letters contain."

With that, Tobrius left, but he returned again a few moments later bearing a packet of parchment. He handed it to me and we shook hands.

"Read them well," he said. "Perhaps you will learn more of your sire, and of the unlikely friendship that once flourished here. Rest well with the Maker, old friend, and rest well with the Maker, Ser Maurevar Carver. Go in peace, young Hawke, and may Andraste guide you."

The others led me from the Gallows. I was too stunned by what I had heard to pay much attention to where I was going. There was some talk of going to the Hanged Man, but I could not. Instead, I went home to wait for my brother. He and I will have much to talk about.


	15. Chapter 15: Where the Heart Is

_AN: No promises about accurate characterization or portrayal of game events. BioWare owns everybody but Iain. As always, reviews, critiques, and suggestions for improvement are most welcome._

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><p>9:31 Dragon, 15 Guardian: Gamlen's house, Lowtown<p>

Carver and Merrill arrived at Gamlen's house not long after I got there. I introduced Merrill to Mother and the two of them went into the bedroom to start going through chests and boxes. Seeing them together, I doubted that Merrill could use any garment of Mother's more fitted than a cloak, but that was not the point of bringing her here.

Carver sat down beside me at the table and poured himself a mug of ale. I pushed Fathers letters toward him and then reached for the pitcher to top up my own cup.

"What's this?" he asked suspiciously.

"A few things of Father's," I replied, trying not to smile. "You might find them interesting."

He picked up the first letter, unfolded it, and scanned the first few lines.

"This is just old mail," he said with derision and pushed the letters away. "And it's all addressed to the Gallows. What do I care what one mage wrote to another?"

"These were never intended for a mage," I chuckled, allowing the smile that I had been holding back. "Read this part."

I flipped over the top page and pushed the correspondence back to him.

"What's this?" Carver looked. "For the future you have given us... inexpressible thanks... conscience of the Order... Ser Maurevar Carver! This was a templar?"

"The one who allowed Father to leave Kirkwall," I nodded. "He helped Father forge a way forward, not back, and Father honored his memory the only way he knew how."

"I was named for a templar, then! Do we know any who aren't complete pricks?"

"We do now," I said, once more fighting to retain control of my face.

"I just wonder why Father gave me that name and not you," Carver mused.

"I might not have looked like a Carver," I shrugged. "Whatever our parents' reasons were, they chose wisely. You do the name much more credit than I would have done."

"The important thing is that Father thought the name worth remembering," Carver said, flushing slightly. "A swordsman had value in his eyes."

"I guess even Father was right once in a while," I said gently. Carver smiled and put the letters inside his tunic.

"I keep these, if you don't mind," he said. "And maybe I'll read them when I start resenting him for spending all his time with you and Bethany."

"He would have wanted you to have them," I agreed, "but it would have been because he wanted you to know how much you meant to him... even if he didn't have to spend every moment teaching you not to burn down the barn."

"You mean that was you?" Carver grinned. "I always thought it was Bethany."

"No, that was Father himself," I laughed. "He got distracted by an owl and a spell got away from him. We just said it was Bethany so Mother wouldn't make us practice outside. It was a cold winter, that year."

Our truce will not last. It is really too much to hope for. But for that golden half-hour in Gamlen's kitchen, Carver and I stopped being adversaries. We were just two brothers sharing an ale over some old memories.

Merrill and Mother came out of the bedroom not long after, Merrill's arms laden with woolen things. One of the tunics looked like mine. It would probably serve her as a dress, albeit a very baggy one, but if Mother thought it was appropriate, who was I to complain? Green is not really my color anyway, so I will never miss it.

"I've never seen so many clothes!" Merrill exclaimed when she saw me. "You've got chest after chest of them!"

"I'm glad you found something to fit you," I replied.

"Oh, none of it fits," Merrill said cheerfully. "But who cares about that if it's warm?"

"That's what I always say," I agreed. Carver passed me in both height and girth before he was sixteen. I have been wearing his hand-me-downs ever since.

"Are you coming to the Hanged Man tonight?" Carver asked.

"I... haven't got any money," Merrill hesitated.

"Don't worry about that," Carver reassured her.

"Are you sure?" Merrill asked. "I mean, I don't mind being alone."

"If you would prefer to be by yourself, people will understand," I told her, "but if your only objection is the cost, I'd take Carver up on his offer, if I were you. It's a sin to pass up on a free pint."

"A free pint of what?" Merrill asked curiously as the two of them started making their way for the door.

"Ale, Merrill," Carver smiled, "or something else, if you'd rather."

"I've never had ale before," she replied. "Is it nice?"

I was sorry that I would miss what promised to be an interesting night, but I had a cat to find… and a certain apostate I wanted to enlist for the task. Anders would have gone on ahead to the Hanged Man with Varric, so while Carver walked Merrill home to drop off her acquisitions, I went to the tavern in search of my favorite cat person. I brought Peaches with me, this time. It seemed only fair to include my mabari in the selection process.

Anders agreed readily to help in my search, although he was less enthusiastic about walking through Kirkwall with my dog bounding after us. Animals have an instinctive knack for determining which people do not like them, and Peaches is no different. Unfortunately for Anders, Peaches seems to think that his dislike is a challenge, and tries to win him over with affection. Most people find this distressing.

"Any idea where we can begin our search?" I asked.

"I know just the place," Anders replied, vainly trying to keep my body between himself and my dog. "One of my patients is a bit of an enthusiast. She has dozens of cats, and usually has at least one litter of kittens ready for new homes."

"Nobody said anything about kittens!" I balked. "I can probably handle a nice, mellow cat, but I'm not so sure about a kitten."

"It's up to you, of course, but a full-grown cat might be harder to bring into your home," he said. "If Peaches has never been exposed to cats, he might have an easier time accepting a kitten. He'll see it as a baby and be more gentle with it. Also, mature cats have definite opinions about dogs. If they're raised around them, they get along alright, but if you bring an adult cat into a home with a dog, it does not usually end well."

"Define not ending well?"

"Hissing, spitting, claws across the nose, that kind of thing. The dog usually gets the idea eventually, but it makes the cat nervous. Anxious cats tend to spray the furniture."

"'Spray the furniture'? With what?"

"Urine."

"Kitten it is!" I decided. This whole plan was becoming less and less attractive.

Anders led me to the cul-de-sac where Donnic was ambushed and knocked on a weathered, unpainted door. An elderly woman answered and greeted Anders warmly. She was far cooler toward me, however. This might have had something to do with Peaches, who chose that moment to shove his muzzle into the old woman's dress. I pulled him back and apologized, but she did not look ready to forgive me.

"My friend is interested in adopting a kitten," Anders told her.

"I don't have any to spare," she snapped, regarding me as if I were a genlock. A chorus of mewing erupted behind her. Anders smiled and whispered something in the woman's ear. She took a step backward and shook her head, a sad, doubtful look on her face, but Anders whispered something else and she relented.

"Oh, very well," she sighed. "But I'll just bring a few out to you. There's no way I'm letting that monster inside my house."

It was just as well. If the smell wafting out through the open door were any indication of what it was like inside the house, we were better off on the street. I wondered how many cats the woman actually owned. In any case, the woman went back inside and emerged several moments later carrying five kittens in a basket.

She set the basket down and told us to stand away a moment to give the animals time to react to us. Two of them, the grey tabbies, cowered from us, too afraid to even look over the edge. These, I ruled out for being too timid. I did not want a cat who would spend all its time hiding behind the furniture. Another, an orange tabby, got up on the edge and made the world's tiniest hissing sound at Peaches, who looked confused. I remembered what Anders said about anxious cats and urine and was forced to disqualify that one too, despite how comical it looked with its miniature fangs and pencil-thin bottle-brush tail. The fourth one, all white and the smallest of the lot, peered over the side of the basket as well, but the mucus trails below its eyes and dull, patchy coat suggested that this little fellow might need serious doctoring. The fifth one, a black kitten, looked at Anders, Peaches, and I with obvious curiosity. For a moment, that was all it did, but eventually, it decided to investigate. It scrambled over to us and started sniffing Anders's boots. My boots were next, followed by Peaches's paws. Peaches bent down to sniff it back and I held my breath. My dog could have taken the whole kitten in his mouth if he wanted to, but he just stood there, sniffing the cat with one ear cocked. After a few moments of this, the kitten decided it had enough of dogs and went back to Anders's boots. Very slowly, Anders crouched until he was sitting on the street and gestured that I should do the same. By the time we were settled, the kitten had climbed into each of our laps at least once and had actually scaled Anders's coat while attempting to attack the feathers stitched onto it, squeaking its fuzzy little opinion about humans the whole time. Feisty kitten won.

"These kittens look awfully young," I said. "Are you sure they're weaned?"

"They were just weaned last week," the old lady informed me in a "don't you think I know what I'm doing?" kind of voice. "If you don't want one, don't take one."

"No, I do," I assured her. "I like this little black kitten. Is it a he or a she?"

"I've been calling him Wallace," she said. "Are you sure you want _him_? He's a real handful."

"He seems to like us," I ventured. If he was a favorite, she might not want to give him up, but I reminded myself that she did bring him out to us. If she really wanted to keep him, she would have left him inside. "And I think I'm going to like him very much. He even gets along with Peaches."

"Oh, alright, but don't say you weren't warned," she sighed.

"Thank you for the cat," I said politely, wondering how I should go about asking her if she wanted to be paid for him. "Can I give you something to help provide for the others?"

"If you're offering to help, I won't turn it down," she said hopefully, "but your friend has already promised... a favor."

"Then let me help a little," I said, smiling at the blush rising in her cheeks. I fished two silver coins from my purse and handed them to her. She absentmindedly tucked them into her apron and looked up at Anders. She had a long way to look.

"You won't forget, will you?" she asked anxiously.

"I won't forget," he said solemnly. "The day after tomorrow. It was light today, and I almost never get two slow days in a row. I'll need to be at my best for it."

"You're a dear boy," she said to Anders. "And see that your friend doesn't mistreat my cat."

"He's the soul of kindness," Anders assured her, much to my embarrassment.

"He'd better be the soul of forbearance, with Wallace in the house," she snorted. "But I'll look for you the day after tomorrow. And if there's nothing you can do, I will understand."

"Thank you, Evie," Anders replied. "I'll do what I can, but there are barriers I cannot cross."

"I know, love," she said, "but it means so much when you try. Until then?"

"Until then," Anders said gravely. "Peace of Andraste be with you."

"And with you, my dear," she answered. "And mind he keeps an eye on my cat!"

I nodded my farewell and followed Anders away, cradling my new kitten protectively against my chest. I marveled at the tiny life I held.

"What did she want you to do?" I asked Anders as soon as we were out of earshot.

"Her husband is lost in the Fade," Anders answered. "He is a mild creature, given to gentle forgetfulness. He knows none who call on him, and often forgets the face of his wife. I cannot cure that. It is the natural tendency of the mind to wander at the end of life. But I can bring him back to spend an hour or two with those who love him. It would be longer if I had some lyrium."

"I have lyrium," I replied, fighting down an inappropriate giggle. I had nestled Wallace in the folds of my tunic to transport him back to Gamlen's house and he was wriggling a bit in his confinement. "I've got flask after flask of the stuff. I've been afraid to try it since I heard it's addictive, but if it brings your friend's husband back for a while, I can part with a vial or two."

"You've never had lyrium?" Anders asked, startled. "I would have thought... your father was Circle trained, after all."

"Never in my life," I affirmed. "Does it do something?"

"You and I are going to have to put some time aside to initiate you to it," he said. "Not tonight. We have too much else going on. But definitely before you venture out again. I don't like the thought of you facing enemies without knowing what it does."

That sounded ominous, but I held my peace. I had the world's most adorable kitten cradled against my ribs and I was anxious to get him home.

"So, how do I take care of my little furball?" I asked. "Is it much different from caring for a puppy?"

"You'll want to hold him a lot in the days to come so that he'll bond to you," Anders instructed me, "but you shouldn't carry him all the time. I wouldn't know how you'd care for a puppy."

"Peaches was easy," I chuckled. "He demanded attention; I gave it. It takes a stronger man than I to resist the charms of a mabari pup."

"So we can pretty much expect that Wallace will be a spoiled pest," Anders speculated with probable accuracy. "It's great fun when they're small, but you'll have to live with the consequences."

"I thought cats were independent!" I snorted.

"That's what they want you to think!" Anders laughed. It was an honest, mirthful sound, so different from the mockery of happiness he usually made that it hurt to hear it. "You'll be forgiving Walllace for shredding your breeches even before you've got them off of your legs."

"He wouldn't do that," I responded, though the effect of my assurance was lessened by the yelp I let out when Wallace, still snuggled inside my tunic, decided to test his boundaries by clawing my nipple. Note to self: Never again put a live cat inside my tunic. As if it needed to be said.

"Uh-huh," Anders replied knowingly. "Let's go home to your uncle's and see how Wallace does in new surroundings."

"Speaking of which, what do I do about waste? I walk Peaches twice a day, but you can't really walk a cat."

"When I had Ser Pounce-a-Lot, I used to leave my bedroom window open and he'd come and go as he pleased, but I wouldn't recommend that here."

"My bedroom doesn't have windows, anyway," I said. "Gamlen's house is just a hole in the rock."

"You could always get a shallow box and put sand in it," Anders suggested. "You'll have to change the sand every few days, but it's no trouble, really. And you'll probably have to scoop up the solids as soon as he leaves them. Dogs seem to find cat turds delicious."

"Ew."

"And you wonder why I say dogs are disgusting."

"Peaches isn't disgusting," I said loyally. "He's just... uninhibited."

When we arrived at Gamlen's house, I expected Wallace to find a quiet corner to hide in while he became accustomed to his new home. He did not. Within moments of our arrival, he was out and about, sniffing things and making friends with Mother. He is definitely a talker, moving from room to room amid chirps, squeaks, and an odd, trilling meow.

"How's he supposed to catch mice making all that racket?" I asked Anders.

"He'll be quiet while he's hunting," Anders replied. The two of us were sitting cross-legged on the bottom bunk while Wallace climbed over us. "Assuming he turns out to be a mouser, of course."

"Wait," I said suspiciously, "what do you mean 'assuming he turns out to be a mouser'? That's the whole reason I got him!"

"Really?" Anders asked innocently. He picked up Wallace, lay back on my bunk, and placed the kitten on his chest, petting him all the while. Within moments, the kitten was asleep, though Anders continued to stroke him. He closed his eyes, but his still-moving fingers betrayed his wakefulness. Slowly, carefully, I reached out my hand and touched his face.

"Iain," he said, opening his eyes. I waited for the "don't," but it never came. Was this the moment he would give in to me? Here, in the room I shared with my mother and brother? Breathless, I slid up the bed and leaned over him. My lips were mere inches from his. I bent lower... and his hand rose to touch my mouth. Gently, he pushed me away. I groaned got up from the bed. I walked away, across the room. I did not even know what I was looking at. I have never wanted anything as much as I wanted that kiss, and to be denied like that, so close to achieving my desire... Warning him was a mistake. I should have kissed him at once. Frustration was driving me mad.

I heard footsteps behind me and Anders put his hand on my sleeve. I reached out for him, but he merely brought my hands together and deposited Wallace in them. The kitten was still fast asleep, purring.

"I'm hungry," he said.

"So am I," I replied, though my appetite was not for food. "I suppose you want to go to the Hanged Man?"

"Unless your mother feels like feeding us," he said. "I haven't got any food in my clinic."

"Is it alright to leave Wallace like this?" I asked, resigned to yet another chaste evening. "There's stew here, and I'd feel better if I were home with him tonight. Should he be sleeping this much?"

"Kittens sleep a lot," he shrugged. "We'll put him in a box with a dirty tunic of yours. That way, he'll learn to associate the smell of you with being warm, safe and happy. And we had better get some food ready for him. He'll wake up hungry, but he'll probably go back to sleep as soon as he's done eating."

"Peaches slept a lot as a puppy, too," I recalled. "I guess all baby animals do. Takes a lot of energy to grow. I wonder how big he'll get."

"Let's just hope that he doesn't reach mabari size," Anders smiled.

We made up a box for Wallace, put him inside it, and went into the kitchen. Mother was just ladling stew into bowls for us. Halfway through dinner, the kitten came out to join us, mewing hungrily. I cut up some of my meat and put it onto the floor for him... and then I had to put down the rest for Peaches. It would not be good to foster jealousy this early in their lives together.

After we ate, Mother decided that tonight was a good night for haircuts. Mine needed no more than a trim, but Anders's was truly a mess, all different lengths and untidy, as if he had once worn his hair back and then chopped it off above the thong that secured it. So, I sit here and write while Mother cuts Anders hair, with Peaches asleep on my feet and Wallace asleep in my lap. There is a sense of domesticity about the place, a rare thing in Gamlen's house. It would take very little to complete my contentment, but the piece that is missing is still very, very far away.


	16. Chapter 16: Demands

_The usual: No promises about accurate characterization or portrayal of game events. BioWare owns everybody but Iain. As always, reviews, critiques, and suggestions for improvement are most welcome._

_New **lemon-lime** flavor! Provides 150% of the USDA recommended daily requirement of Vitamin "MK..." Not recommended for persons with high blood pressure, high thyroid levels, or high standards. In case of accidental exposure, hit "Back"._

**_SPECIAL NOTE: This chapter is RATED M for sexual content. _**

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><p>9: 31 Dragon, 16 Guardian: Anders's clinic, Darktown<p>

The first thing I saw upon waking was boots. Women's boots. With armored legs sticking out of the top. Aveline. In vain, I tried to jerk a sheet across my body, but Peaches was lying on it, so all I did was wake up my dog... and the tiny kitten curled up beside him, who mewed irritaby. I blinked sleep from my eye and sighed. Well, Aveline was married once. She would have seen smallclothes before. And she is practically family anyway, if it makes a difference.

"Get up, Hawke," she greeted me. "You can't walk through Hightown like that."

I tried to sit up, but Peaches and Wallace had me pinned against the wall. With the pair of them sharing my bunk with me, I had less room than I did with Carver. I scooped up Wallace and told Peaches to get off the bed.

"When did you get a cat?" Aveline asked.

"Anders and I picked him out yesterday," I replied, scrambling forward onto the floor so I could stand up. "Why are we going to Hightown?"

"I've been summoned before the seneschal" she replied worriedly. "It has to be about Jeven. There's been no official word about the inquiry, and it's been days. I need you to back me up, Hawke."

"Alright," I acknowledged. "Could I have a moment, Aveline? Full bladder."

To my dismay, she did nothing but turn around and keep right on talking. Apparently, she considered herself family as well.

"You'd better put on something smart," she said. "The summons was very formal. And leave that dog of yours here. The last thing we need is for him to knock over another statue."

I tried to ignore her and relax, but it was no use. My body knows that she is not a blood relative, no matter what my brain tries to tell it. There was just no way I could pass water with her in the room.

"Aveline, please," I begged her, "go wait in the kitchen. I can't do this in front of an audience."

"Fine," she said with some exasperation, but at least she left. My relief was profound.

My toilette did not take long. I probably should have shaved, but I had done so two days ago, and I do not grow a heavy beard. Or much of a beard at all. I settled for putting on my best tunic and combing my freshly-barbered hair into a pony-tail.

When I went into the kitchen, Aveline broke off talking to my mother mid-sentence.

"Finally!" she snorted.

"Not quite yet, Aveline," I said. "If we aren't taking Peaches with us, he'll need a walk."

"Fine, bring him, then," she said irritably. "Let's just go."

Aveline's temper did not improve as we walked to Hightown. I could not imagine why she should be so nervous. We had done nothing wrong. Indeed, we exposed corruption in the Guard. She was in more danger of receiving a citation than a reprimand.

My predictions were proven accurate when we reached the Viscount's Keep. Armed guards were dragging a chained and ranting Jeven out of the building. He shook his fist at Aveline and swore vengeance against the pair of us, but I grinned at his ravings. Jeven had misappropriated funds and betrayed a city's trust. He would be no threat to anyone for quite some time.

"Shall we go see who they picked to replace him?" I asked Aveline.

"We have no choice," she replied, her anxiety only slightly abated. "I have a summons to appear."

There was nothing I could do but follow her to the seneschal's office. We found Seneschal Bran seated at his desk, shuffling through paperwork.

"Ah, guardswoman," he greeted her crisp salute, "I see you received my summons. Kirkwall stands in your debt. To think that a scoundrel like Jeven should rise to such a position of prominence in this city!"

"Kirkwall's Guard should be led with integrity," Aveline agreed. "We hold the people's trust. We must serve them with honor."

Only Aveline would say something like that to another human being. Seneschal Bran looked amused, but he refrained from laughing. In our presence, anyway.

"The Viscount would have you assume the role of Guard Captain, Aveline Vallen," he informed her. Aveline's jaw dropped to her breastplate. I half-expected it to leave a dent.

"Acting Guard Captain, for the present," he went on. "It will be weeks before Jeven's mess is cleaned up, months, perhaps. And there will be trainings, approvals. Mere formalities, I assure you, but you are in for a busy few months, guardswoman."

"I am grateful for the trust the city has placed in me," she said, recovering enough to stand to attention once more.

"Thank you, Guard Captain," Seneschal Bran replied with a smile. "You will want to begin at once."

Aveline snapped another salute to the seneschal, turned on her heel, and exited the office. I nodded my farewell and followed her. Peaches barked twice and followed me. What a fine parade we made!

I started to follow her up the stairs toward the barracks but she held up her hand to halt me.

"You'll want to be paid, I know," she said. "And it's probably my job to do it."

"Getting paid would be nice," I agreed. "If there's anything left after Jeven got done with the books."

"That's what I'm afraid of," she sighed. "Can you wait a few more days? Just until I see what accounts look like."

"Sure, Aveline," I said readily. "We're not going to starve before you get the paperwork sorted."

"Thank you, Hawke," she said with a smile. "I'll want to talk to you again after I've settled in a bit, but I know I've got you to thank for putting me here."

"The promotion is richly deserved," I grinned. "You belong here. Congratulations."

I do not remember any smile she has ever given me being warmer than the one that lit her face at my words. I did not want to ruin the moment with more talk, so I waved farewell and made my way to the door, Peaches trotting at my heels.

It was barely mid-morning and I had the rest of the day before me. I had no idea what I should do with myself. I went back home to check on Wallace, but he and Mother were taking a nap. Carver had not yet arisen from his bunk. I checked to be sure that he was still breathing. From the smell coming off of him, he had indulged rather freely last night, and Hawke men are not known for their tolerance for drink. Slight as she was, Bethany could drink both Carver and I senseless. Not that our parents allowed Bethany or I to go to the tavern. Drunken apostates in a town full of templars was not a good idea. Still, Carver did smuggle a jug of whisky home one time, and we drank it in the barn. He and I made ourselves sick on the stuff, but Bethany was fine. Maker, I miss her. Does grief ever really end? In any case, Carver did not quite seem as far gone as he had been that afternoon in Lothering. He would sleep until noon, at least, but I did not smell vomit on him. Gamlen was awake, but we never talked. Just as well, really. I waved to him on way back out of the house. I left Peaches inside. Anders does not like dogs, and with nothing else to do, I might as well help him out at the clinic. I stopped at the baker's and bought two meat rolls for our lunch.

I intended to go straight to the clinic, but I found myself in front of Anders's picture window instead. I stared out over the ravine, a dull, distracting ache building in my chest. Aveline is happy now. She has all the purpose and duty that she craves. Varric has his business deals and extensive social network to sustain him. Fenris has his freedom, even if he is not yet ready to revel in it. Isabela has her admirers, and all the whiskey she can drink in the Hanged Man. Perhaps Carver and Merrill have each other. Time will tell. Anders has his cause, and Justice driving him ever onward. I... am lonely. There, I have a word for it.

Mist rose up from the waterfall below. Mist and noise. Would anyone care if I hurled myself into it? Would anyone hear the sound of my body breaking on the rocks below? I was not going to do it. I do not hate my life. I just wondered if anyone would ever come looking for me. The answer was an immediate "yes." Someone would want something. Someone always did. I could not even take a piss without fielding instructions about how I should dress for performing a favor. I had let it go at the time, but that intrusion was beginning to infuriate me. I have no privacy. No one should be supervised every moment of the day.

So, I ache with loneliness, yet I am never alone. I shook my head over the contradiction. And the _yearning_! It was becoming unbearable. I longed to touch someone else, feel their body pressed to mine. I needed to connect, become a part of someone else's life and feel them become a part of mine. It did not have to be forever. The knowledge that I had glimpsed another soul would satisfy me.

And then, there was the... pressure. Humans have urges. I have known that since I was a boy, when I forgot to latch the door to the latrine and my father walked in on me while I was masturbating. I was mortified, of course, but Father explained that the actions I considered so shameful were perfectly normal, a natural bodily need. As long as I did not overindulge or allow self-gratification to distract me from forming meaningful relationships with others, a quiet wank now and then would do me no harm. As long as I exercised discretion, of course. And that was the problem I now faced. With every moment of every day spent in the company of others, the desire for release keeps building, but I can do nothing about it.

Others in my house do not have my inhibitions. Gamlen visits the Blooming Rose. Carver does too, sometimes, or he goes about his business very quietly in his bunk when he thinks the rest of us are asleep. I tried that once, not long after we arrived in Kirkwall, but I have never mastered the art of breathing normally during the process. Instead, I hold my breath until I am ready to pass out and then gulp air until I get my breath back. A pointedly innocent cough from Mother was all the reminder I needed that silence is not the same as proof that the others in the room are asleep.

Even thinking about the relief I once enjoyed was enough to bring on another bout of frustration. But maybe it did not have to be that way. I looked around. I was truly alone. I have never seen anyone else here but Anders, and he would be busy in his clinic. If I wanted, I could enjoy a little private time right then. And with the noise of the waterfall on the other side of the ledge, I could breathe as loudly as I needed to and no one would ever know. I untied the sash around my waist and started unbuckling the bottom half of my tunic. The laces on my pants soon followed. The swirling mist from the waterfall was cool against the bare skin of my belly. It felt odd to be so exposed, but good. Indescribably good. I closed my eyes.

I undressed Anders in my mind. I lovingly undid each fastening of his coat and pushed it a little further back on his shoulders each time the gap widened. In the feverish state brought on by an increasingly demanding erection, Anders wore no shirt beneath his robe. He was all bare skin... and all Anders. His dream-lips pressed firmly against mine as his clothing dropped silently to the floor. He was as naked as I. I slid my hands over his chest, marveling again how pale and flawless his lean body was. He was hairier than me, though that is not saying much, just a soft, downy patch across his chest and a ginger-blond trail leading down from his navel. He shivered as I caressed his nipples, and moaned in pleasure as my fingertips traced the lower line of hair. I touched him at the same moment that he touched me. His strong, graceful fingers encircled me and he stroked me, instinctively knowing the slow pace I prefer. I explored him, as well. My mind had to supply the details. I have never seen him nude at all, let alone in a state of arousal. I imagined him as being much like myself, perhaps a little longer and more slender, since he is so much taller and slimmer than me. I did not care. I held him in my arms. I touched him with my own hands... and with my own lips, in a kiss that joined our souls. I gasped as the first spasms wracked me. It had been so long, and my visions had been so intense, that my release was almost like pain. When it subsided at last, I felt drained, but infinitely calmer. My chest burned from the deep, heavy breaths I took in toward the end, and my heart pounded as if I had run up three flights of stairs. My groin ached slightly from the force of my orgasm. I really should have done this sooner. I was utterly exhausted, but I summoned enough energy to pull my pants up and cross the lower flaps of my tunic across my abdomen. I did not bother with too many laces, ties, or buckles. I would see to it after my nap. I closed my eyes once more.

"Iain!" Anders voice pierced the fog in my brain. "Iain! Wake up! It isn't safe to sleep here!"

I opened my eyes and the real Anders bent over me, getting ready to chafe my cheeks if I did not wake instantly. I sat up groggily.

"What time is it?" I asked. "How long have I slept?"

"I... just got here," Anders replied carefully. I looked down. My tunic was still closed, but not buckled. I did not need to open the front to know that my pants were still unfastened. My belt lay beside me on the ground. I was obviously in a state of dishabille, but Anders did not ask me how I got this way. Nor did he ask me if I was alright, which would have been the normal reaction upon finding a half-dressed friend lying on the ground with his eyes closed in the Undercity. Was it possible that he had arrived earlier than he said he did? I remembered the incident with Isabela, when he had feigned leaving only to return moments later. My head fell back against the rock and I groaned.

"You aren't a very good liar," I replied. "Why did you come here?"

"I was looking for you," Anders said, sitting down beside me. "I opened the doors at dawn, the same as I always do, but I had only a few patients. I went to your house to ask how you made out with Wallace after I left last night and your mother said that you had not returned, though Peaches was there. I went to the Keep to ask Aveline and she said you left half an hour before. I know you sometimes come here to think, so I decided to check here before returning to my clinic. Have you... been here the whole time?"

"Have you?" I shot back. Anders just looked at me reproachfully. I was assailed by guilt. It was not his fault that my libido was so out of control. Or perhaps it was. Maker knows that he fuels most of my fantasies. But what should he do? Should he allow me to ravish him simply because _I_ desired it? The question was ludicrous. I took his hand in my own – my _left_ one – and squeezed it lightly.

"Come on," I said gently, "turn around so I can pull myself together."

He held onto my hand for a moment before standing up and turning around. I stared at him. Had his thumb caressed my wrist? But it was rude to leave him standing there. I got up myself and laced up my trousers.

"I'm decent," I said, though I was still fastening my tunic and sorting out my belt. There was a strange look in his eyes when he faced me again, but I did not remark on it. This was awkward enough.

"You're far more than that," he said in an oddly choked voice. I blinked. Anders said the most disturbing things, sometimes.

"You said you were looking for me," I reminded him.

"Yes," he said, clearing his throat. "It looks as if I have my morning free after all. If you have your potion case, and I see that you do, we can try you on some lyrium."

"Just like that?" I asked, startled.

"Just like that," he smiled. "And this is the spot I was going to suggest for it. We have space to cast spells over the ravine, and no one is likely to see us here. Or no one we need care about anyway."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"The only people who come here are lovers or criminals. Lovers will see that this spot is already occupied and move on. Criminals... well, I've seen what you do to people who attack you."

"Do we need to cast spells to use lyrium?"

"No, you can take it at any time. It's just more effective if your reserves are depleted. Besides, you wanted me to show you that Cone of Cold spell. This is the perfect opportunity."

I agreed readily. He positioned himself behind me as if he were teaching me to hit a ball with a stick. I felt the warmth of his chest against my back and the pressure of his arms against mine. I flinched as he covered my hands with his, aware that I had not washed, but he ignored my self-conscious discomfort and proceeded with the lesson. He spoke softly in my ear, barely loud enough to be heard over the rushing water. It was all incredibly intimate, and was almost enough to make me forget I had already slaked my desire.

The first time I tried the spell, I failed, but he was behind me again, coaching me with advice and gentle nudges.

"Spread your legs more," he said, wedging his knee between mine and widening the opening between them. "There's a little force behind it, so you'll want to have a good stance."

The second time, I was more successful. The waterfall in front of us froze and sparkled mid-air for a moment before crashing into the river below.

"Good!" Anders encouraged. "Now do a Winter's Grasp – that ice spell you like – and maybe a Stone Fist before you try it again."

I smiled at Anders's habit of using the proper names for spells. My father insisted that I learn them, for the few I acquired during his lifetime. Since his death, I had discovered others. Some, I found in his library, now lost to the darkspawn. One, I stumbled across on my own, quite by accident. That was the one that knocked opponents off their feet. It was a bit like a Mind Blast, but I could place the center of it anywhere, not just on my person, and it had other advantages, as well. It was probably not a new spell. There were few that were. But I did not know the name of it, and Anders had been unable to learn it when I tried to teach it to him. Perhaps different mages had natural tendencies toward certain spells. Or perhaps I was just bad at teaching.

Anders, however, was an excellent teacher. I did as he bid, casting Winter's Grasp and Stone Fist, and his Cone of Cold again, and then Chain Lightning and another Winter's Grasp, followed by a Fireball and another Cone of Cold. I was starting to tire, but I tried my own incantation, the one Anders could not learn. The spell was exhausting, but Anders did say that he wanted me tired. The results were disastrous. The spell hit the water and propelled it straight at us. Drenched, Anders glared at me.

"Was that really necessary?" he asked.

"Sorry," I mumbled weakly, dropping with exhaustion.

"Maker, Iain!" Anders gasped, rushing over to support me. "You didn't have to go that far!"

We both sank to the ground. He held me against his chest with one arm while he fumbled in my potion case. He pressed a vial to my lips and I drank.

At first, all I did was gag at the metallic taste. Lyrium was a metal, I reminded myself. Why should it not taste like rainwater drunk from a rusty cup?

And then, it happened. I felt... everything. Energy coursed through my veins. I was renewed. I saw colors I did not know my eyes could see, heard sounds well beyond the edge of normal hearing. I sensed Anders beside me as I had never done before. I imagined that I could _see_ Justice inside him, withdrawing from me even as he held me. I felt emotions radiating from him, too intense and too confused to identify. I longed to know what they were, but it was as if I had drunk a draught of the hottest spices imaginable. I wanted to name the flavors, but I could not. All I knew was that they were strong.

"Can you stand?" Anders asked, still concerned.

I got to my feet.

"How's your energy?" he prompted. "Can you cast a spell?"

I stretched out my hand and the waterfall froze again. I reached out again, but Anders stopped me with a hand on my arm.

"Iain, no," he said. "Your body and mind are just as tired as they were before. Lyrium restores a little, but it won't last. I need to get you home before you collapse."

He was probably right. I felt my newfound vitality fading even as he spoke. By the time we got to his clinic, I was only too happy to lie down on his bunk while he tended his patients. He stopped to check up on me periodically, but I needed nothing but rest and I told him that.

By noontime, I was recovered enough to help with his patients, but he insisted I rest longer, and sleep if I could. He stopped working long enough to eat the food I brought... I lied and told him that I had already eaten my share. I know what his appetite is like. I should have brought more. An hour later, he was still refusing to let me help him, so I sat down at his desk with my journal. He showed me some texts he was translating, but I have yet to start in on them. I think I will just sit here and watch him, and think about how good it felt to lie in his arms, even if it was only for a little while.


	17. Chapter 17: Heroes and Traitors

_The usual: No promises about accurate characterization or portrayal of game events. BioWare owns everybody but Iain. As always, reviews, critiques, and suggestions for improvement are most welcome._

_AN: This chapter fought with me. I'm still not sure who won._

* * *

><p>9:31 Dragon, 17 Guardian: Gamlen's house, Lowtown.<p>

In the end, Anders did convince me to nap on his cot. I was fully recovered from my earlier exertion, but it was easier than arguing with him. It was cool in his clinic, so I covered myself with his blanket, the blue one I bought for him. I closed my eyes and tried to make myself comfortable on his ancient, slightly lumpy pillow. I wondered how many times he must have drooled on it. The thought was a bit off-putting, but if I was going to fantasize about kissing him, I had no right to complain about spittle. I rolled onto my stomach. Not surprisingly, Anders's bed smelled like Anders. It was reassuring, somehow, as was the barely audible sound of his voice instructing his patients to wash the affected area with clear water, apply the prescribed salve twice a day, and avoid future visits to the Blooming Rose. I let my mind drift.

When I awoke, he was sitting beside me on the floor, his back against the cot. He had a book in his hands and was reading it by the feeble light of the tiny oil lamp he had placed on the crate that served him as a nightstand. I watched him for a few moments, enjoying the flicker of light across his features. I shifted to get a better look at what he was reading, but he sensed my movement and turned toward me, closing the book and placing it beside the lamp.

"Did you sleep well?" he asked.

"Too well," I replied, turning onto my back and attempting to sit up. "My head feels like it's full of sludge. What time is it?"

"Almost sundown," he replied. "You slept for nearly four hours."

"Nngh," I groaned, massaging a cramp in my neck, "why did you let me sleep so long?"

"You looked like you needed it," he said gently. "Was there somewhere you had to be?"

"If there was, someone would have come looking for me," I muttered. "And what are the odds that I would be anywhere else?"

"True enough," he agreed, looking pleased and a little smug. "I would offer you dinner, but Lirene had nothing for me today."

"We can eat at Gamlen's," I assured him. "Besides, I had better go home and walk Peaches. And Wallace will want some attention, even if he does have Mother wrapped around one little claw already."

"Are we doing anything this evening?" he asked, getting up so I could get off his cot without tripping over him. I did so, and filled his wash basin. Splashing cold water on my face helped to clear my head.

"We need money," I sighed. "So we'd probably better go out and earn some."

"Making Kirkwall safe for all deserving citizens?" he said in a solemn imitation of Aveline.

"Exactly," I smiled. "Up for a little head-bashing for righteousness?"

"I'll do it to keep your head from getting bashed," he said. "Who else were you planning on taking?"

"I'll swing by the Hanged Man and see who's sober," I answered.

As it turned out, Fenris and Varric accompanied us. And Peaches. Isabela did not appear to be drunk, but she was playing cards with an Antivan merchant who was too ready to believe her ignorant of the rules of the game. I almost felt sorry for him. There was no sign of Carver or Merrill. I wondered if they were together.

Crime in Lowtown had dropped dramatically lately. This was all well and good, but it did mean we had to travel farther afield if we wanted some easy coin. Tonight, we went to Hightown.

"Do you think we're as bad as the thugs?" I asked of no one in particular.

"You smell as bad," Varric joked. "Does that count?"

"I bathed today..." I began. "Er... no... that was yesterday... no, two days ago. Or maybe three. Point taken. But I meant that we don't actually turn in the money we find. Should we?"

"That depends," Fenris replied. "Can your mabari track coins back to the owner?"

Peaches whined apologetically.

"No," I interpreted. "He wishes he could, though."

"They you might as well keep them," Fenris said. "If you turn them in, they will only go into the pocket of the person who receives them."

"The broody elf is right, Hawke," Varric shrugged. "You've as much right to the spoils as the next man."

And then they struck. We were in the Dwarven Merchants' Guild area, a fenced-in courtyard with nowhere to run. They hit us fast and they hit us hard. Varric went down in the first volley. I was able to hurl a healing spell across to him in time to save his life, and he leapt up to wreak sharp and pointy vengeance upon his assailants, but my distraction nearly cost me everything. It was my own fault. I was exposed, out in the open with no friendly corner to duck behind. Surrounded, I fought for my life, though I knew I could not hope to win. I cast spell after spell, but they were just too many. Anders tried to help. He Hasted us all as soon as the fighting broke out, and he sent a healing spell my way when I stumbled, but he had no hope of keeping up with the damage that was being inflicted. I knew I was lost... and then Fenris was there. He gave no shout of warning, no fearsome battle-cry to herald my salvation. He was just everywhere, laying about us with a blade longer than my torso. His sudden ferocity drove our attackers back for a moment, but it did not last long. Shiny things draw attention, and the flash of Fenris's sword in the moonlight was the shiniest thing in Kirkwall, or so it seemed. Bandits swarmed around us. Most went for Fenris, but I had my share. I caught an armored fist to the jaw and staggered backward, under the arc of a descending mace. I screamed as my collarbone shattered, then stared at the blood that sprayed out of my mouth. I must have bitten my tongue when the bandit punched me.

Fenris seized the front of my tunic and thrust me out of the fray, under the arch of a doorway. For an instant, his face was close to mine. His eyes filled my vision, huge pools of gold-flecked green light.

"Stay here!" he bellowed, after swearing at me in his own language. "Do not make me avenge you!"

I sagged against the door frame, catching my breath, spitting out the blood that pooled in my mouth, and trying to think past the agony in my shoulder. Fenris was in front of me, fighting back any who threatened us. He fought differently than Carver did. Carver threw himself into it, relying on raw physical strength to stop his opponents. Fenris relied more on speed and, I hate to say it, intelligence. He was a ghost. His enemies would surround him, closing in for the strike, and when their blows should have landed he would simply not be there. It was like watching a dance... with blades, flames, and a lethal rain of arrows. With my mouth as mangled as it was, I was in no shape to cast spells, even if I had the use of both arms, but I had to do something about the archers. My right arm was useless, but I had another. It was awkward to wield my staff left-handed, but I did what I could and sent small spheres of energy at the archers. Individually, each attack did little damage, but it distracted them long enough for Varric to put a bolt through each of their throats.

At last, it was over. I sank to the ground, feebly trying to support the weight of my injured arm. Fenris wiped off his blade on a cloak of the fallen and crouched in front of me.

"Is this how you ask me to repay my debt?" he demanded. "By nearly getting yourself killed? What use is magic against stupidity?"

I tried to answer but all that came out was more blood.

"Get out of the way!" Anders interrupted. "Can't you see he's hurt?"

"Varric –" I sputtered, choking. I all but howled at the agony brought on by the coughing. Peaches whined.

"Maker!" Anders gasped, pushing Fenris aside so he could kneel beside me. I wiped my mouth and tried it again.

"Varric's hurt," I gasped.

"I'm fine," Varric assured me, slinging Bianca across his back and wiping what might have been brains off his lapel. "Blondie patched me up already. You, on the other hand, look like shit."

"Looks worse than it is," I answered... or tried to. It is not easy to talk with a half-severed tongue.

"I'll be the judge of that," Anders said crisply. I felt the familiar tingle in the air as he gathered his will and then cool waves of healing washed over me. Feeling my splintered collarbone knit back together was a little unnerving, but my relief was immediate and profound. Anders drooped a bit after the spell was complete, but he recovered almost instantly.

"Thanks," I said, enjoying the ability to speak once more. "I feel good as new."

"What happened to you, back there?" Anders asked. "We've fought larger packs than that!"

"He got careless," Fenris said flatly. "He allowed himself to be drawn out in the open and surrounded. He's lucky to be alive."

Anders looked as if he were about to protest, but I shook my head.

"Fenris is right," I agreed. "I should have cast my spell and retreated instead of standing in the middle of the courtyard like a bloody great statue. And I am lucky Fenris was there. I would not have lasted ten heartbeats otherwise. And you, Anders. Thanks for putting me back together just now. I don't want to think about that walk back to Lowtown with my shoulder down around my hip."

"Good to know I'm appreciated!" Varric chuckled.

"I'm always glad to have you there, Varric," I replied with sincerity that only sounded mocking.

"That's better!" he snorted. "So, who wants first crack at the bodies?"

It was a joke, of course. We were not about to strip them of their boots and gold teeth. Though I did find a rather nice belt on one of them... but perhaps I should not commit that to history.

"They're wearing guard uniforms," I observed to Varric. "Is this Jeven's lot?"

"Probably not," Varric said, clinically examining the harness of one of them. "And these aren't authentic uniforms. They probably just dressed this way to fool passers-by. No one's afraid to walk next to a guard."

"I'm glad Aveline isn't here, then," I said. "Can you imagine how furious she would be if she knew that criminals were impersonating guards to gain their victims' trust?"

"I can," Varric agreed, "and that's the scary part. Do we have enough here, or do you want to keep going?"

"Up to you," I said meekly. "I wasn't much use to anyone last time. How's everyone else holding up?"

"I can go all night," Varric said with a smile, patting Bianca fondly. There are times I wonder about his relationship with his crossbow.

"Are you up to it?" Fenris asked me. "No lingering tenderness?"

"No, I'm fine," I said. "Anders? You went through a lot of mana back there."

"I know better than to overextend myself," he answered with a not-so-subtle reference to my collapse this morning.

"All the same, take this," I replied, passing him a vial of lyrium. "Just in case."

"Did you bring enough for everybody?" Varric teased. He obviously thought I gave Anders an elfroot potion.

"You can have one if you like," I replied "Lyrium for everyone!"

"I've had enough of lyrium to last a lifetime," Fenris said bitterly. I winced. It was insensitive of me to joke about lyrium in front of Fenris, but apologizing for my lapse would only make it worse.

"How's the neighborhood where you live, Fenris?" I asked, grasping at anything that would change the topic. "Think we'll find thieves around there?"

"I'm not really close to my neighbors," he said with some scorn in his voice.

"I meant in the street," I clarified. For a moment, I thought he was being deliberately obtuse, but no, he had attempted humor. I was astonished.

"We could try it and find out," he shrugged.

We went from one end of Hightown to the other but we found nothing until we came to Viscount's Way. There, within sight of the Keep, we were set upon by yet more thieves dressed as guards. This time, the fight went much better. Almost boring, in fact. Our rewards were lighter, but it did not matter. We had enough to keep us fed for a few more days, and half a sovereign to put toward the expedition.

We went back to the Hanged Man after that, but we did not stay long. Varric usually invited us all into his suite to drink, play cards, or otherwise amuse ourselves, but tonight, he pleaded fatigue and the necessity of dealing with a huge stack of correspondence. He avoided his business obligations whenever he could, so I was forced to conclude that Bartrand must be hounding him about the expedition.

"I've got twenty sovereigns saved up," I ventured sheepishly.

"I know, Hawke," he sighed with uncharacteristic patience. "And there's a big job or two coming up. And who knows? Aveline might even come through for us."

"She'll pay us when she can," I insisted. "It's just that the city's accounts are a mess, after Jeven, and -"

"I know, I know," he chuckled mirthlessly. "I wouldn't hold my breath, if I were you. Fortunately, the Viscount isn't the only one in the city with coin. Feel like taking on a missing persons case?"

"What's involved?" my curiosity was piqued.

"Some Orlesian in Hightown is looking for his wife," Varric shrugged. "I saw the notice in passing. Might be worth checking out."

"Tomorrow," I promised him. "I won't turn down the coin."

"Alright," Varric said, his hand on the door. "I'll see you in the morning. Not too early. Bianca likes her beauty rest. Not that she needs it."

"I'll keep that in mind!" I laughed. And then I went down the stairs into the common room, wondering what we would do with ourselves. Isabela was making her excuses, as well, so it would be just Fenris, Anders, and me. An awkward trio.

"I'd better go home myself," Anders said. "I'll have an early day tomorrow with Evie. Do you mind if I keep the potion you gave me?"

"Not at all!" I assured him. "Do you want me to go with you?"

"Up to you," Anders answered evasively. "I'll be going quite close to the Fade. I'm not even sure you could follow me without getting lost. You've never been Harrowed, have you?"

"Er... no," I said. I was not sure that I understood why he wanted to keep me away, but it was clear that he did. "I guess I'll find something else to do."

"If you're thirsty, I'm chilling a bottle from Danarius's stock," Fenris said lightly. "It is not far out of your way."

It was on the other side of Kirkwall, in fact, but Fenris's invitation was not a thing to be missed. I was looking for an opportunity to befriend him. I could hardly ask for a better. Anders's face belied the calmness of his farewells, but I could not allow myself to be swayed by his displeasure, as important as he was to me. I needed to cultivate a relationship with Fenris. I would not do so by declining a free and generous welcome. I hoped that Anders would understand the necessity of maintaining alliances. It was worth a try. I dropped Peaches off at Gamlen's and went on to Hightown.

As on my last visit to Fenris's mansion, I gagged upon crossing the threshold.

"What is that smell, Fenris?" I asked. "Should it always be like this?"

"I take poorly to housework," Fenris replied, and offered no further explanation.

"The Void with that!" I snorted. "You have to live here. Shall I come by with my gloves on and help you shift some of this debris?"

"You shall not," Fenris said firmly. "I will do with these premises as I see fit."

"Sorry I offered!" I shrugged. It really was his choice.

"Come," he said, "there is a room upstairs better suited for social calls."

He led me to his sleeping room, the largest and most opulent of the bedrooms. We found him here on our last visit. He cleared away some of the bottles since then, although he had done little else for the place.

"There are some chilled bottles in the tub by the door," Fenris said, bending to stoke the fire. "And some cups on the table, I think."

By the time I retrieved the wine, located the cups, and determined that they were probably not dirty enough to actually kill us, Fenris had roused the fire into a roaring blaze and dragged two armchairs within its circle of light... and warmth, as I soon found out. Fenris shed his armor and upper garments before he even sat down. I found this curious, since he was usually so self-conscious about his markings, but perhaps the glow of the fire gave him some relief from the pain they still caused him. I wished that I dared do the same. The heat was oppressive. I unfastened my tunic and opened the front, but I was sweating freely before I finished my first cup.

Fenris was disinclined to speak at first. He seemed perfectly content to lounge in his chair, drinking his wine and staring into the fire. He refilled his cup when empty, and topped up my own each time he lifted the bottle. Between my proximity to the fire and the pitiful dinner I had eaten hours before, the drink was going straight to my head. I tried to slow down, but I worried that Fenris would think me rude to refuse his hospitality. I settled for pushing the fronts of my tunic a little further apart.

"There is no need to be formal on my account," Fenris said, noticing my movements, and probably my heat- and wine-flushed face. "We are quite alone."

Relieved, though mildly embarrassed, I shed both tunic and shirt. My boots soon followed. I fretted that I would leave perspiration stains on the upholstery, but my concern was probably unnecessary. Fenris's furniture was stained by far worse than sweat.

Out of deference for his privacy, I had refrained from looking at him. I was curious, but I felt like an intruder, gazing on something I should not. I turned to thank Fenris for his gesture of accommodation and found him regarding me with open appraisal. The fact that he made no attempt at concealing his interest made me... many things. I was flattered, embarrassed, aroused, intimidated, and above all, confused. I tried to cover my emotion by draining my cup. Fenris rose from his chair, crossed the room to his stash of bottles, and retrieved a fresh one. He broke the seal, filled my cup to the brim, and returned to stand by the fire, his arm across the mantlepiece. He drank, straight from the bottle. I stared at him.

Fenris's body is quite different from my own. He is far, far stronger than me, but his frame is slight, bird-like, and bound with hard, taut muscles. I could probably enclose his waist in the span of my hands, but I would have to press very hard to sink a fingertip into his bicep. And unlike my drab, insipid pallor, Fenris's skin glows golden bronze... with a tracery of incandescent blue-white lyrium laid across it. I longed to touch him, to feel his tattoos with my own hands, but even wine was not strong enough to overcome that inhibition.

"Tell me of your escape from Lothering," he said to the fire.

"Just like that?" I stammered.

"Why not?" he replied, amusement in his voice. "You did not come here only to roast by my fire."

"It was Carver who warned us," I began. "He was part of the army at Ostagar, and when he saw how unstoppable the darkspawn were, he came home to help us flee."

"Your brother is a deserter?" asked Fenris in surprise, turning to face me. I could not bear it.

"Carver is no coward!" I cried, leaping from my chair and lumbering forward to confront Fenris face to face. "What right have you to judge my family?"

"No right at all," he replied mildly, running a slow, languid fingertip along my once-injured collarbone. "Tell me what happened, then, and clear his name."

My wounded pride evaporated. Fenris had saved my life. He did not deserve my indignation now.

"He was injured in the battle, _after_ Loghain's betrayal," I explained. "He was knocked senseless for a time, and when he regained consciousness, he found himself alone among the corpses of his unit."

"I did not know," Fenris said softly.

I paused to draw breath, and to gulp from the cup Fenris politely refilled.

"I do not know how he managed to find a path through the Wilds," I said. "Luck or Andraste must have favored him. But he did find his way to us, mere hours ahead of the horde. Mother did not want to leave, but we persuaded her that Carver had not risked death in the Wilds to watch the darkspawn savage his family."

"So, your brother was a hero," Fenris raised an eyebrow.

"I think so," I said loyally. "He did not tell us all that befell him after he escaped. I tended his wounds while Mother packed, so I was able to piece the story together from the blood, grime and swamp-vegetation that covered him."

"How did you get out of Lothering? You must not have had much time."

"We almost didn't," I admitted. "The darkspawn were everywhere. Our farm was on the very outskirts of the village, not far from a copse of hickory. We tried to avoid being seen, but Mother had trouble keeping up. They followed us into the woods, and they would have had us then, but I was able to mislead them."

"How did you manage that?" Fenris asked, though his expression suggested that he already knew the answer.

"I did," I said simply. "We were discussing my brother's part in our flight, not mine."

"And If I wanted to hear your part?" Fenris asked. I was suddenly aware how close I still was to him. Our chests were practically touching. I retreated to my chair, but Fenris remained by the fire.

"I would tell you how Bethany threw herself in front of an ogre so that Aveline and Carver could attack it."

"Your sister?"

"She... did not escape." I drained my cup again.

"So you said," Fenris said wryly, pouring more wine into my cup. "What was she like?"

"She gave her life to save us," I answered, as if that should explain everything. Alcohol does not make me better company, unfortunately. "Before that... she was my sister. She was gentle and kind to small animals. She weeded our neighbors' gardens and brought soup to the shut-ins."

"Was she a sister in the Chantry?"

"Oh, no. Not that. My sister was a mage."

"Two of you in one family?" Fenris found the news startling, apparently.

"Three, if you count our father," I replied. "Bethany was about as apologetic a mage as you would wish, though. Her whole life, all she ever wanted was to be normal."

"And you don't?"

"I want to be the way the Maker made me," I said. "If He gave me magic, I would be ungrateful to refuse the gift."

"And if that makes you easy prey for demons?" Fenris asked. "Have you ever considered that the offer of magic was a test, and that by embracing it, you failed?"

"Not every mage falls prey to demons," I insisted... with increasing mental fogginess and decreasing ability to apply logic to my arguments. "You can always say no."

"So, you've never had dealings with blood magic?" Fenris sounded skeptical.

"Never!" I denied hotly. Father did not neglect that part of my education. I knew what danger blood magic held.

"I suppose I should be thankful you don't rant about mage freedom the way some of your friends do," Fenris grunted, giving up on the argument and sitting down again.

"You mean Anders."

"I mean Anders. I have never seen anyone as single-minded... or as wrong."

"He has his reasons for being the way he is," I said defensively.

"And those would be..."

"He merged with a spirit of justice," I answered. For some mad reason, I thought a more thorough understanding of Anders's situation would soften Fenris's obvious animosity toward him. Many things seem sensible when viewed through a tumbler of wine.

"He... what?"

"A spirit of justice lives in his head," I could not seem to stop myself. "He met him in Amaranthine, and when it looked like he'd die, Anders invited him in. On his own, Anders might not be so fanatical, but Justice demands action."

"I... see," Fenris said slowly.

It was then that my words sank in. Fenris had not known of Anders's condition. I had just betrayed Anders. I was going to be sick.

I lurched out of the chair and ran from the house, my hand clamped across my mouth. I made it as far as the street before I collapsed, heaving my guts onto the cobblestones... and onto a pair of boots.

"Hawke?" It was Aveline's voice. "What happened to you?"

"He's drunk," Fenris's voice was icily sober.

"You did this to him?" Aveline accused him.

"He did this to himself," Fenris said.

"I have to get him home," Aveline insisted. "Get off the street before your neighbors get curious."

And I knew nothing else.

* * *

><p>I was in bed, and I was too warm. My head throbbed and my stomach rebelled. I rolled over to throw up onto the floor but Anders was there with a basin. He supported me while I retched, then helped me lie down again.<p>

"I think that's the last of it, Leandra," he said, wiping my face and mouth with a cool cloth. "I'm going to give him a moment to catch his breath and then I'll heal him."

"Thank you, Anders," Mother said. "I don't know what we'd have done if you hadn't come."

"I've seen worse," I could almost hear the smile in Anders's voice. The memory of my betrayal floated to the surface of my thoughts and I vomited again. "My word, Iain, I expect you'll be bringing up your intestines any moment."

He put his hand on my chest and the healing energy flowed through me, calming my stomach and soothing my head. My illness was no more than a memory... and the lingering stench of wine-soured vomit.

"Anders," I breathed, seizing his hand. "Thank the Maker. I don't know if I'd have survived that."

"You would have," Anders chuckled. "That doesn't mean you wouldn't have wished you were dead, though. How much did you drink, exactly?"

"I don't know," I sighed. "Fenris just kept on refilling my cup as soon as I took a sip."

"Fenris is responsible for this?" Mother asked disapprovingly. Anders just frowned.

"I am responsible for this," I insisted. "I could have refused. I should have refused. You know I can't drink."

"Neither of you boys can," Mother shook her head. "No one who knows Gamlen would believe you're related."

"There's always something to be grateful for," Anders smirked.

"Mother..." I began after looking under the sheet that covered me. "Where are my clothes?"

"Your pants were... soiled," she said awkwardly. "That's all you were wearing when Aveline brought you home."

"Then the rest is still... where I left it," I said evasively. Anders said nothing, but I could sense his disapproval. Maker knows what he must think. I squeezed his hand, but he withdrew it.

"I have an appointment to keep," he said. "Evie will be expecting me."

"I thought you were there already! I'm sorry... for everything."

My heart sank once more. I did not know what Fenris would do with the information I gave him, but I felt wretched, repaying Anders's kindness with betrayal.

"Get some rest," Anders smiled, patting my shoulder. "The alcohol is out of your system, but you didn't sleep much last night."

"Well, he won't be sleeping yet," Mother protested. "Not until the linens are changed and the floor is washed."

"I'd better get to it," I said. I started to get up before remembering that I was naked. "Just give me some privacy for a moment, alright?"

Laughing, Mother and Anders left the room so I could make myself presentable and make good some of the damage I caused in my drunken stupidity. The gravest of my offenses, however, were beyond the power of soap and fresh water to repair. I had done harm – real harm – and there was nothing I could do to set it to rights. I am such a fool.


	18. Chapter 18: Only Human

_The usual: Dragon Age II and all characters except Iain are owned by BioWare and EA. I just borrow the space and fumble around causing trouble._

_Chapter note: This might be the last chapter for a short while. I've got some Infinity Engine (BG2) obligations to settle before I resume. I'm not abandoing the fiction, not by a long shot, but I've got to devote my energies to timely things. Seriously, though, feedback keeps this thing afloat. Like all authors, I don't like to write in a vacuum. If you're sick of it, I've failed and this fic deserves the miserable death that awaits it, but if you're enjoying the read, a quick "carry on" does wonders for the muse. And that's true of any fic, not just this one. I don't know a single author that doesn't appreciate a 2-second "when's the update?" and most are just happy with "Yeah, I read this." Likewise, a quick "pull the plug" would enable me to just let it go and pursue other forms of expression. Totally up to you. Yeah, it's pathetic, but entirely human. Thanks for reading. Hope I see you in a month or so, when I'm free to write fanfic again._

* * *

><p>It was almost noon before I set out to meet Varric about his missing persons job. I had cleaning to do. I had no memory of anything that happened after I met up with Aveline last night, and judging from the mess I caused, it was just as well. Mother said nothing of it, only that I had not been in the house ten heartbeats before she woke Carver to send him in search of Anders. The state of my trousers told me that the less I knew of the events of this morning, the better. If only my amnesia could be transferred to my family. I half expected Fenris to show up with my clothing and boots, but he did not. Which meant that I would have to return to the scene of my depravity to collect them... unless he put them in a sack and brought them to the Hanged Man. That would be the sensible thing to do, since we met there every day, anyway. I hoped Fenris was sensible.<p>

So, I set off for the Hanged Man, dreading what I would find on my arrival. Varric was awake, of course, and ensconced in his dining room with everyone except Merrill... and Fenris. Aveline's eyes, especially, I could not meet.

"Hawke," she greeted me coolly. "You look... well."

Carver snorted and choked on his eggs. I examined the tops of my boots, my cheeks scarlet.

"Sit down, Iain," Anders said kindly. "Did you sleep well?"

"Mother had some chores for me," was my vague explanation. I took the offered seat and tried not to look at anyone.

"I would have just burned the pants, myself," Isabela said, suppressing a giggle.

"Carver has been... entertaining us," Anders said disapprovingly.

Carver protested, "Tell me you didn't laugh when you helped us peel off his -"

"Anders did not laugh," Aveline said quietly. "Neither did I. It was no laughing matter."

Isabela started to contradict her, but she stopped suddenly, a look of surprise on her face. Somebody must have stepped on her foot.

"Go ahead and laugh," I said bitterly. "I deserve it."

"If we do, we'll be laughing _with_ you, Hawke," Isabela said, gently patting my thigh. "We've all done silly things."

"Speak for yourself, Rivaini!" Varric laughed.

That should have made me feel better. It did not. Not everyone betrayed a trust.

"Who's coming with us for that missing wife job?" Varric asked.

"Is that Ghyslain de Carrac's wife?" Aveline asked. "He's been hounding the guard about it, but there's no proof she didn't just run off."

"There was a _reward_ posted," Varric said pointedly. "Odds are, he'll actually make good on it."

"Very funny, Varric," Aveline was not amused. "And that's why I'm here. After ascertaining that Iain suffered no lasting harm from his adventure last night. It's about your help in exposing Jeven."

She slid a sheet of parchment across the table to me. I picked it up. I had to read the number written on it several times to be sure I did not mistake the units.

"Take that to the office of the exchequer for payment," she informed me.

"Thank you!" I gushed. "You should come with us, though. You have a share in this."

"Thank you, but I have already been rewarded," she smiled. "You may want to share with the others, but I'll leave that up to you."

The others looked at me expectantly. Everyone here had some part in the reward. How would I divide it?

"How about we put half aside for the expedition and divide the rest evenly?" I suggested. "Aveline, you're waiving your share, but would you be opposed to splitting it between Fenris and Merrill? They missed the fun, but neither of them has two coppers to rub together. They need the coin."

"That sounds fair," Aveline agreed.

"About this expedition of yours," Isabela put forward. "We're all helping you fund it, but how much of the proceeds will we see?"

I scratched my chin and reflected that I could use a shave.

"I'm not going to say anything concrete," I ventured. "We don't even know that there will be profits. But assuming there are... Varric, finance isn't really my strong suit. Help me out, will you?"

"Come on, Rivaini," Varric snorted. "When has Hawke ever done wrong by you?"

"He didn't show up in my room that first night," Isabela said with a sultry wink that proved once again that she has not lost her power over me, despite my recent attraction to others.

"I was a bit under the weather," I lied. "I didn't want to disappoint you with a performance less spectacular than you deserve."

"He's so cute when he blushes," Isabela giggled. I just shook my head and covered my flaming cheeks with my hands.

"So who's coming with me?" I sighed. "Besides Varric, I mean. I wouldn't know how to find the place otherwise."

"Tell me about it," Carver laughed.

"I'll go," Anders volunteered. "But you really should eat something first."

"Later," I said, "but don't let me stop you, if you're still hungry. Anyone else"

"I'll pass," Carver said under his breath.

"No interest in earning some coin?" I asked.

"I... uh..."

"He's taking Merrill and me shopping!" Isabela announced. Varric laughed, but Carver looked capable of murder.

"Have fun with that, brother," I teased. "If you find yourself in a dress shop, I'll have mine in pink, with loads of ruffles."

"Pink isn't a good color for you, Hawke," Isabela said critically. "You blush too easily to get away with it."

"I'm crushed!" I laughed. "Well, Carver, you'll just have to get one for yourself, then."

"Why do I even talk to you?" he muttered. "Come on, Isabela. You told Merrill we'd be there by noon. We're already late."

"Women are never on time, Carver," Isabela advised him, though she did get up from the table. "Merrill won't expect us this early."

"This is Merrill we're talking about," Carver said, getting up himself. "She'll have been ready since mid-morning, just in case we were early."

"Ugh. Do people really get up that early?"

"So I've heard," Carver shrugged. By now, they were almost out the door. I turned my attention back to Anders and Varric.

"Are you two almost done?" I asked.

Anders nodded, though his cheeks bulged with the food he was chewing. Varric pushed away from the table and went into his bedroom for Bianca. A few moments later, we were on our way to Hightown. We decided to see the exchequer first.

"How did it go with Evie?" I asked Anders as we walked.

"Well enough," Anders said. "He was a lot farther in than he was last time. I don't think I'll be able to do that again."

"Can't you enter the Fade yourself?" I asked him.

"Not without a lot of lyrium," Anders answered. "And maybe not at all. I'm not sure what the Fade would bring out in me."

"Your glowy friend?" Varric asked.

"It could happen," Anders admitted. "I've been afraid to try it. I was hesitant even to drink the lyrium Hawke gave me, but that wasn't as bad as it might have been."

"Makes me glad I'm a dwarf," Varric shrugged. "So, Hawke, Carver says you had fun last night. Got any dirt on our broody friend?"

"We didn't talk about that, exactly," I groaned. It was all coming out now. It had to. As horrible as this would be, Anders did not deserve to be blind-sided by my betrayal. "Anders, I did a terrible thing last night. I don't want to tell you, but you deserve to know what I've done."

"I'll just wait up by the statue," Varric said diplomatically and went on ahead. I sat down on somebody's front doorstep and made room for Anders beside me.

"What is it, Iain?" Anders asked gently, taking the reserved seat.

"I... "

He waited. I could not say it.

"We all make mistakes," he said in that same patient voice.

"Not like this, they don't," I all but wept. He was silent a moment, then put a comforting arm around my shoulders and laid my cheek against his chest. It was all I could do to keep from sobbing.

"I understand your regret," he said sadly, with the air of one who was trying not to judge. "Drink clouds your judgment, and you know the rest. It's alright, Iain. He might not be... the man you wish him to be, but he is not completely without honor. He will not misuse your trust."

I could hardly believe what I was hearing. Anders _knew_ what I did and _forgave_ me?

"You understand?"

"This is all new to you," Anders continued. "Friendship, attraction, even inebriation, I think, though I hope you don't make a habit of that."

"Never again!" I swore.

"Don't make promises you can't keep," he chuckled. "You're bound to make a few mistakes, just like the rest of us. Once you learn your limits, you won't be infallible, but you'll have more control over your actions in any state."

"You really are too good to me," I sighed, relieved. I tried to hug him back, but he stood up.

"Let's not get carried away, here," he said, though there was no sting in his words. "We should probably pick up your clothes first and visit the Keep and Ghyslain on our way back."

Fenris was expecting us... or me, at any rate. He had my clothing ready, and asked to accompany us to the Keep and to Ghyslain. I was not entirely happy in his presence, but I saw no reason to deny him. Our business with the exchequer was concluded swiftly and painlessly, and we found Ghyslain without incident on a terrace above the Hightown market.

Ghyslain was a piece of work. Had his wife, Ninette, left him voluntarily, it would not have surprised me. He went on at length about her legal obligation to her husband, and how fidelity in their marriage was something he alone practiced. After spending a few moments in conversation with him, I concluded that this was no mark of restraint on his part, but the natural consequence of his boorishness. That said, it was painful to hear how he clung to the memory of their love. He called it a dream, and I wondered if it was. In the end, I agreed to do what I could to find Ninette, though I promised myself that I would not encourage her to return if she was unwilling. Ghyslain suggested that we visit the Blooming Rose and speak with a prostitute there, an elf by the name of Jethann. I cringed at the thought of entering a brothel, but I had already agreed to the task. I dreaded what Varric would say of my reluctance. It was not meant to be, however. We never made it that far.

"So, mage," Fenris said in a normal conversational tone as we crossed the market square, "I hear you're an abomination."

"Speak up, elf!" Anders shot back. "I don't think they heard you in the Gallows!"

I stopped dead, bewildered. Anders sounded surprised, but he should not be, not after the confession I made... or did not make! By the Maker, he thought I confessed a tumble with Fenris. He did _not_ know what I thought he knew!

"Do you consider yourself safe?" Fenris went on accusingly. "A tame creature who would never harm anyone?"

_Fenris, no..._ I mouthed, but the words would not come.

"I've never ripped a man's heart through his chest, if that's what you mean."

"I did that at the behest of no demon!"

I wanted to stop them, do anything, but I was paralyzed.

"Then it doesn't take a demon to make a man a vicious killer. Good to know."

"Cold day we're having," Varric interrupted. "Why don't we all go back to the Hanged Man for a nice cup of tea."

"Maybe we'd better," I agreed woodenly. If Varric had suggested leaping off the causeway between Hightown and Lowtown, I would have agreed just as readily.

No one said anything until we reached the Hanged Man. Once inside, Varric ushered us into his dining room and closed the door on Anders, Fenris and I, shutting us in.

"Sit down, please," I said. "Both of you."

Each of them looked more murderous than the other, but they did sit, one on either side of the table with me at the end.

"This present... misunderstanding... is entirely my fault," I sighed. "I know that I had no right to tell Fenris what I told him -"

"You would have concealed such a thing from me?" Fenris demanded at the same moment as Anders said "He had no right to take advantage of you while you were drunk!"

"Yes, I would have concealed it from you," I said to Fenris. "It was not my secret to tell. And I recall a time when you were not so open with us, or have you forgotten how you hired me by proxy to spring the trap intended for you?"

"You survived," Fenris grunted, unmollified.

"As will you," I said. "And Anders, as much as I would like to be able to blame someone else for my failings, I cannot. Fenris did not tie me up and pour wine down my throat, nor did he torture the information out of me."

"Why else would he be so eager to get you home and ply you with drink?" Anders asked. I could not decide whether to be pleased by his refusal to think ill of me even now or whether to be insulted by the idea that information was all I was good for.

"It was a friendly gesture," Fenris snapped. "Had I known how enthralled he is to you, I would not have made the effort."

"I am not his thrall!" I slammed my fist on the table. "Anders is not a blood mage. He does not bend others to his will. He believes in freedom and choice and a person's right to decide his own destiny, just like you do."

"Freedom for mages!" Fenris snorted. "Who would set up their own Imperium, given half the chance."

"Not all mages want to dominate others, Fenris," I said coldly. "I don't. Anders doesn't. And it is natural for us to want freedom for our people, just as it is natural for you to want freedom for yourself."

"I knew you would take his side!" Fenris complained.

"I'm not taking anyone's side," I groaned. "Don't turn this into 'us versus them'. I shared privileged information with you, Fenris. I was drunk at the time – my own failing, not yours – but I should not have told you. To have you broadcast it across the marketplace was just too much. We should not have secrets between each other, but by the Maker, we don't betray our own."

"And what is 'our own'?" Fenris asked. "Mages?"

"Yes, mages. And warriors, and whatever Varric and Isabela want to call themselves. We depend on each other, Fenris. For good or ill, we're all we've got, and what hurts one hurts all. We must be able to trust each other. If you cannot live with that, there's the door."

"I... can live with that," said Fenris reluctantly.

"Good," I said firmly and stood up. "And in the spirit of fraternity, I owe both of you an apology. Anders, I should not have discussed details of your past without your consent. It will not happen again. Fenris, I regret placing you in a position where loyalty to a friend must make demands of your conscience. I assure you that your trust is not misplaced."

Neither of them acknowledged my words, but I did not expect them to. They both rose and stepped away from the table. Neither looked happy, but I did not expect that, either. I opened the door and found Varric outside, cleaning his nails. I sighed. Carver, Isabela, and Merrill would hear of what happened here, after all, but no matter. I had said nothing to Fenris and Anders that I would not say to them. Varric's unruffled demeanor told me that he heard nothing that disturbed him, which was reassuring, in a way. I have never found fault with Varric's moral compass. He knows what's important.

"Can I have my room back now?" he asked.

"Yes, Varric," I smiled. "Thank you for giving us a quiet place to talk."

"You are leaving now, right?" Varric grinned. "All in the past, and all?"

"I think so," I sighed. I was still unsure if Fenris could accept our arrangements, but I was not about to yield. As much as I needed his blade, I did not need his hostility. I was not willing to give up Anders to appease his insecurity. If all else failed, I still had Carver. Until my brother decides to leave us, of course. That's the problem with siblings. Sooner or later, they must to follow their own lights, and no blame on them when they do. My heart hurts, thinking of a life without my grumpy brother, but I must stand on my own one day, I know.

"Shall I walk you home, Fenris?" I asked.

"There is no need," he answered. His reply was not an invitation, but it was still less cold than it might have been, and how could I expect any different? I let him go.

"Anders, please," I said. "Let me walk with you. I need to talk to you."

"It's a free Kirkwall," Anders shrugged.

He was silent all the way to his clinic. I wished he would say something, anything, but what could he say? When we finally arrived, he unlocked the door and entered. He turned as if to wish me farewell and close the door behind him, but I put a hand on the door.

"May I come in?" I asked. "We couldn't really talk before."

He shrugged and stood aside so I could pass. I wanted to embrace him, if only to prove to myself that he was not as far away as he seemed. Once I was inside, he closed the door, though he did not lock it. He lit his oil lamp, lay down on his cot, and picked up the book he was reading yesterday. As if I was not even there.

"Anders..." I began. I had rehearsed my lines all the way to the Undercity, but now that we were here, I had nothing to say. Apparently, neither did Anders. He opened the book and began reading. Slack-jawed, I watched him for a few moments. I could not bear it. I bent over and took the book away. I wanted him to do something. Speak to me, demand his book back, even strike me. I did not care, as long as he acknowledged my presence.

"You should be tearing me apart for what I did to you," I said.

"Is that how your other abomination friends behave?" His voice was calm, but his pain was obvious. I dropped to kneel beside him. I tried to take his hand but he sat up and pushed me away.

"I don't want to be near you right now," he said emotionlessly. "I know that you aren't to blame. Fenris was right about one thing. He would have found out eventually. I just didn't want him to hear it from you. It isn't your fault, but I'm angry. It isn't _safe_ for you to be here with me."

"I _want _you to be angry!" I all but begged him. "You should be! That's what humans do when someone they care about hurts them."

"I can't," he sighed. "I know you did not intend to hurt me. You want me to be human, but I'm not. Not anymore."

"You _are_!" I protested. "You... you're other things, besides, but you're still human inside, where it matters. You have hopes and dreams. You laugh and you weep. You feel compassion and affection... and yes, anger. Just like any other man. You never stopped being human, Anders."

"I know what I am, Iain," he said. "Do you need to see the monster to know that it's there?"

I took his hand and kissed it. He struggled against my touch, but I would not let him go. I pressed his hand to my chest and held it there. When I spoke, I poured all that I was feeling into my voice.

"You aren't a monster. You never were. I wish you could see yourself through my eyes. Maybe you can. Take lyrium, Anders; feel what's in my heart for you."

"Dear, gullible Iain," he said wearily. "You hold up a mirror between us and describe what you see. You are kind and good, so you believe I must be, too. I wish it were that simple."

Suddenly, I saw a way to show him what I meant. I knew that I was taking a chance, goading him, but if it went badly, I risked only myself. I punched him in the chest. Hard. He stared at me, astonished. I struck him again in the arm, and then I lowered my shoulder and knocked him off his cot. I grappled him, wrestling him to the ground. I tore his hair and dug my knees into his thighs. He resisted, of course, but that was the point. I was still holding back. Physically, I am far stronger than Anders, and a lifetime of wrestling with Carver has taught me cunning, but Anders did not need to know that. I did not want to hurt him, after all, but I wanted him to feel as if he were in danger. He must have the upper hand over me, and for this to work, he needed to feel as if he earned it. I almost laughed for joy when he threw me onto my back and leapt on top of me, sitting on my chest and pinning my wrists to the ground.

"Kiss me," I panted.

"What?" Anders responded with entirely appropriate confusion.

"Or don't," I would have shrugged, but he did have me pinned. "The point is, you're still Anders. You fight like a girl, but girls are people, too."

"You tricked me!"

"And you thought I was gullible! Let me up so we can talk."

He got off me and walked over to the examination table. I went to stand beside him. I put an arm around his waist and he allowed it.

"I hope I didn't hurt you," I said.

"Do you even know what danger you were in just now?"

"I knew. And I knew you wouldn't turn on me. I wouldn't trust you to wrestle a templar, but you're human enough to know the difference. It's _choice_ that makes us human, Anders, not ability. You said something wise this afternoon. Do you remember what it was?"

"I'm afraid to ask."

"It doesn't take a demon to make a man a killer," I reminded him. "You _choose_ to heal the sick and aid the friendless. _That_ is who you are, by the choices you have made."

He faced me again, a soft light in his eyes.

"You bring out the best in me, Iain," he said with something approaching real happiness. "And the worst! You're wicked to tempt me."

"It's what I do," I grinned. "And you owe me a kiss."

He held up my hand in both of his and extended my pinky, which he solemnly kissed. I laughed, but I still felt cheated.

"So, what do you want to do tonight?" he asked.

"Do you really want to know?" I replied, taking a half-step closer and reaching out to touch his jaw. I was only half joking. He stepped back.

"With our clothes on!" he insisted.

"Thumb wrestling?" I suggested.

"What is it with you and the touching?" he laughed. "How about we work on those scrolls on the desk? There are some spells in there I don't think either of us know."

"What is it with you and the thinking?" I retorted. "How about we take turns drawing pictures, and try to guess what the other is drawing before it's done?"

He agreed to that, and we spent a pleasant evening confusing each other with very bad sketches. I was still enjoying the game when Anders reminded me that I still had a long walk ahead of me. I asked if I could stay, but predictably, he refused. So, I secured his promise to help me interrogate Jethann and bid him goodnight. He walked me to the door and embraced me awkwardly. It was a chaste thing, the hug one friend might give to another, but it was the first time he voluntarily put his arms around me. I rejoiced. One step at a time.


	19. Chapter 19: Madness

_The usual: Dragon Age II and all characters except Iain are owned by BioWare and EA. I just borrow them from time to time and try not to back them into the garage door when I put them away._

_Personal note: My expected sabbatical has been shorter than I anticipated. It turns out that while I cannot write mods while at work, writing fanfic is another matter. So thank you greatly to those who left feedback! The encouragement really did help with morale. I appreciate the affection and am grateful for the chance to keep writing. And due to the quirk that makes it easier to think in prose than in code, it looks as if I will not be dropping off the planet quite yet. _

_MATURITY WARNING: It's overrated. Joking aside, we are still in the realm of "Teen" content with this chapter, but we're nudging closer to the border. If mental instability makes you uncomfortable... well, if mental instability makes you uncomfortable, you might be better off reading a fic that doesn't involve Anders._

* * *

><p>9:31 Dragon, 18 Guardian: Gamlen's house, Lowtown<p>

It was still early when I arrived home last night. Earlier than usual, anyway, so I walked Peaches, played with Wallace, ate a late supper, and spent the rest of the night hunched over with a bellyache. When I finally did get to sleep, I dreamed of swimming naked in a vat of wine while primly dressed men and women pointed and giggled among themselves. Not surprisingly, I arose before dawn, poorly rested and rather ill. _Note to self: No more cheese after sundown. Especially not with pickles._

If we were to visit Hightown today, I should look presentable, despite feeling less than my best. I bathed only yesterday, but I drew water and filled the bath tub, nonetheless. I washed quickly and sank back to enjoy the respite from the cramps that had been plaguing me since my ill-advised dinner.

"Are all humans so hairy?" a lilting female voice asked. My eyes shot open. Merrill was standing at the edge of the tub, peering in with unabashed curiosity.

"Is there some kind of law in Kirkwall that says that I can't take a bath without an audience?" I asked of no one. I did not even bother covering up. If it was fated that I should expose myself to each of my friends, today was Merrill's turn.

"Not that I know of," Merrill replied innocently. "Should there be?"

"Most humans like privacy while they're naked," I said pointedly.

"Then why did you put the tub in the kitchen?" Merrill asked in that same ingenuous voice. "You aren't as thin as you look when you're dressed."

"Most humans don't like comments about their bodies, either," I said wryly. "Why are you here, anyway? Is there a problem at your house?"

"Not that I know of," she said, still gazing intently into the water. "But your mother invited me to tea and I didn't want to be late. She's been so nice to me."

"That's nice," I said. Merrill's presence was starting to become a problem. Considering her complete lack of reserve, it was only a matter of time before she remarked on that, too. "Merrill, I don't mean to be rude, but I'm not comfortable with you standing so close to me right now."

"I've done something wrong again, haven't I?" she fretted.

"No, Merrill, you're just not used to our customs," I sighed. "Now go wait at the table. Please."

"Merrill?" Mother's voice said from the door. "You're early... By the Maker, Iain! You should be ashamed of yourself! I didn't raise you to be so uncouth!"

"He didn't know I was here," Merrill said, blushing. "I've done everything wrong, haven't I?"

"Hush, dear," Mother said. "Why don't we go to the market? Some strawberries would go well with our tea."

Mother herded Merrill away, thank the Maker. By the time they returned, I had finished my bath, put on some trousers and begun to shave. Of course, Merrill watched avidly. At least this fascination was understandable. She would not have seen someone shave before.

"Do you have to do this every day?" she asked.

"I don't, no," I replied, trying not to cut my lip. "Some men do, though. I'm not really all that hairy, compared to most humans."

"Can I touch it?" she asked as I soaped up my other cheek.

"No, Merrill," I replied. "It's kind of personal."

"Oh," she said, her eyes wide. "But everyone can see it. Your face, I mean. Not like... the other hairy parts. Do you have to shave there, too?"

"Would you help me with the kettle, dear?" Mother interrupted. "The boys will want oatmeal, so we'd better put that on to cook."

"None for me, Mother," I said. "My stomach is delicate this morning."

"Hmm," she frowned. "You haven't been taking very good care of yourself. Maybe we should have Anders look at you. You can't afford to lose any more weight."

"I'm fine, Mother," I said rather more sharply than I intended. I was finally happy with the way I looked, more or less. I did not need Mother overfeeding me. "Is Carver home?"

"He's sleeping," Mother said.

"Not for long, he isn't," I said, taking the mirror down from the wall and going back into our bedroom. I started pulling tunics and shirts out of trunks. Carver woke up and grumbled at me.

"Put something on before you go out there," I warned him. "Merrill is visiting Mother."

"Right," Carver grunted and pulled one of my shirts over his head before shuffling into the kitchen in search of food.

What does one wear to a brothel? It was not a question I thought I would be asking myself. I tried and discarded several outfits. I wanted to look sophisticated. And not too unattractive. Why this mattered, I had no idea, but I was absolutely certain that I wanted to look good. Or as good as I could, after a bad night's sleep. I wiggled into my tightest trousers. They clung to my hips and thighs in what I hoped was a flattering manner. I risked injury to myself if I had to run in them, but if I had to run in a brothel, I was doing it wrong. Boots were easy. My best pair worked with anything. The tunic was more of a problem. I wanted something rakish, but that described absolutely nothing in my wardrobe. I put on my favorite, the soft, charcoal grey one with the buckles, but it was far too conservative, and the padding made my middle look thick. I took it off again and looked down at the shirt I wore underneath it. It was the only truly black garment I owned, with a divided front that wrapped around my abdomen. I did not wear it often because it was black, but was that really so terrible? Perhaps it was time to revel in my pallor. I put the tunic away and studied the effect of the shirt by itself. It bloused over the top of the pants and the front gaped roguishly. I liked it.

On impulse, I took down the bottle of scented oil Carver keeps for special occasions. Smudged letters on the label read "Spices of Rivain". I worked loose the stopper and sniffed. It was strong, but not disagreeable. I dabbed the moistened stopper to my throat. Several times. Satisfied that I smelled like something besides soap or body odor, I replaced the bottle on the shelf and looked around for the mirror to check my appearance one more time.

It was not easy, examining myself in such a small mirror. I could only see a single thing at a time, but if I moved the mirror around and used my imagination, I could get some idea of the overall effect. I was particularly satisfied with the pants. The bulge in the front was not as pronounced as I would have liked, but it was present, at least. And the deficiency, if there was one, was not the fault of the trousers. In any case, unless I wanted to stuff a pair of socks down the front, I would have to accept what the Maker gave me. There are limits to even my vanity. The only part of my appearance that still bothered me was the youthfulness of my face. I am four years Carver's senior, but no one would know it to look at us. I tried growing a beard when I was younger, but it proved easier to grow a sense of humor. And the same might be said of my trousers, I reflected. I shifted myself around a bit and discovered that by dressing on the right, my profile improved. It felt unnatural, but it looked good.

The sound of a female clearing her throat roused me from my exercise with the looking glass. Mother and Anders stood framed in the doorway. Mother looked mortified on my behalf, but Anders's expression was amused.

"I hope we aren't interrupting anything," Anders said blandly.

"Er... I was just checking my laces," I lied.

"Good idea, using the mirror," he said with a perfectly straight face. "Looking down is so inefficient."

"Are you going out, dear?" Mother asked, eying my attire skeptically.

"We have an interview to conduct," I said, blushing. "Is there something wrong with the way I'm dressed?"

"It's different," Mother said carefully. "Maybe a little... chilly... for a day like today, though. It looks like rain."

"Isabela will love it," Anders predicted. "Are you ready to go, or do you need to check a few more angles?"

There was something vaguely disapproving in Anders's tone.

"Anders, be honest with me," I began. "Do I look ridiculous?"

"Be honest with yourself," he said. "Is this who you are?"

"Maybe it's who I want to be," I replied.

Anders shook his head. "You look unwell. Are you alright?"

"I slept poorly," I explained. "Something I ate. It will pass."

"Aha," he said, though he still looked concerned. "Are Carver and Merrill joining us?"

"Merrill is having tea with Mother," I replied. "I don't know about Carver."

"I'm in," Carver said. "Maker, Iain, you look like an idiot."

"Wonderful," I sighed. "Let's go, alright?"

Varric was waiting at the Hanged Man, but Isabela had not yet arisen. There was no sign of Fenris, for which I was thankful. He was not to blame for yesterday's drama, but that did not stop me from resenting him. I knew that I was being unfair to him, that he had a legitimate reason for his animosity, but I could not help thinking that his aggressive hatred of mages made it difficult for me to take his part. Well, time might help, there. If he could see with his own eyes that not all mages are heartless monsters, he might one day accept us for what we are.

"Andraste's ass, Hawke," Varric complained, waving his hand in front of his face. "Are you wearing scent?"

"Is it too strong?" I asked.

"I wouldn't say that," he coughed. "Just don't stand near any open flames for a while."

I stopped at a pump and scrubbed. My experiment was rapidly turning into a disaster. I did not feel suave or more confident. I was a walking joke. Just like every other day.

At last, we reached the Blooming Rose. We stood outside the door and I tried to collect myself. My heart was pounding as if I were about to enter a dragon's den. It was a business establishment, I told myself, no different from a granary or a blacksmith shop. If granaries or blacksmith shops sold sex. I was shaking.

"What an interesting place," Carver observed. "Never been in here before."

"My ass!" Varric retorted. "You alright, Hawke? You look a bit green."

"I'm fine," I insisted and pushed open the door. Scents and soft music wafted over us. I went in.

It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. Everything was warm and sensual here, from the dim amber glow of the shaded candlelight to the voices we heard in the darkness. I had not even closed the door behind us when an elegantly dressed woman approached Anders and ran langourous fingers through the feathers of his coat.

"You're new, aren't you?" she breathed.

"I'm not on the staff," he snapped. "This happens every time. I am sick of it."

"You come here?" I asked him.

"I have patients here," Anders replied. "When there's an outbreak among the staff, it's easier for me to come to them. At least Madam Lusine pays well."

"She can afford it," Varric shrugged. "She runs the place with Harlan. Or for him. Or on him. It's a Coterie thing."

A middle-aged nobleman was staring appreciatively at Carver's build. He took a few tentative steps toward us, but my brother put an end to that with a scowl and a shake of his head.

"Hello, Varric," said a scantily clad young woman. "Haven't seen you in ages."

"Bianca gets jealous," he shrugged.

"You could still bring your friends around," she protested, gazing appreciatively at Anders and Carver.

"Some other time," he smiled. "Come on, Hawke, Madam Lusine's concierge will know where we can find Jethann."

No one seemed to be in much of a hurry, and I was curious to have a look around. The place seemed to be a converted mansion, with all of luxury that implied. Well-dressed patrons mixed freely with the staff. The latter were in various states of undress, from an alluringly unlaced bodice on one well-endowed female to a few twists of a silken scarf on an otherwise naked male. I half-expected to see more actively seductive behavior, but that was a mark of my own inexperience. If the prostitutes were paid for their touch, why would they give it away for free? And if the patrons were paying for privacy, why would they cavort in the lounge? Nevertheless, I was disappointed. With my luck, this was the closest I would ever come to a sexual encounter. I would have liked to see something more provocative.

"I'm going to go talk to the concierge," Varric said. "Try to stay out of trouble, Hawke."

I nodded and walked off to examine a statue. This brought me close to a door off the main room. An enticing sound filtered through it, soft, shuddering moans accompanied by a faint, rhythmic thumping. The pace of both increased before terminating in a cry that sounded almost like pain. I shivered. Someone on the other side of that door was now very, very happy. It confused me to be so close to a stranger's ecstasy, but I felt a vicarious thrill, despite my malaise.

"Come away, Iain," Anders said gently beside my ear. "They don't like it when you listen in."

"Am I that obvious?" I groaned.

"You've led a sheltered life," he smiled. "But I think Varric's found our man."

Jethann was not what I expected. He was not working today, he informed us, which explained his entirely ordinary attire, but he would be willing to make an exception for me. His slim build and vibrant eyes were enticing, but I was able to overcome the temptation. My trembling gut told me that excitement of any kind was unwise. Besides, we had a job to do.

"Jethann," I began after clearing my throat, "I understand you are friendly with Ninette?"

"Not for weeks and weeks," he lamented, "which is a shame. She's always a delight. Though it makes sense, I suppose. I hear she finally left her worthless husband, and good for her! She's wasted on him, I say."

"She told you that she was leaving him?" I asked.

"No, that's only what I hope she did," he replied. "He's an absolute pig. An elegant, worldly woman like Ninette should not be chained to a loser like him."

"Ghyslain named you, specifically," I said. "Has he confronted you?"

"He came in here one time, months ago," Jethann admitted. "Called me a dirty knife-ear. We had him thrown out."

"Is there any chance Ninette could be in trouble?" I asked.

"I hope not!" Jethann said, horrified. "Everyone loves Ninette. Sometimes, twice a night! Seriously, the only one who would dream of hurting Ninette is her husband, and he hasn't the balls for it."

"That doesn't help us much, I'm afraid," I sighed.

"Somebody else was here looking for her," Jethann volunteered. "A templar by the name of Emeric. He wouldn't sleep with me, either."

"A templar!" I blinked. "Is Ninette an apostate?"

"She has a kind of magic about her," Jethann grinned. "But if she is a mage, you'd think Emeric would have said so."

"True," I sighed. "Any idea where we could find this Emeric?"

"He said something about a lead in the Undercity," Jethann informed me. "You might want to ask around there."

"Thank you for your time, Jethann," I said gravely.

"If you see Ninette, tell her I miss her," Jethann said with a wink. "Was there anything else I can do for you? A sensual massage, perhaps?"

I cleared my throat while the others looked on with amusement. Except Carver, who poked me in the back and muttered something about getting out of here.

"Thank you, but no," I said.

"Some other time?" Jethann trilled. I was conflicted. On the one hand, I knew that Jethann, a paid escort, was probably no more interested in me than he would be in any other human with coins in his purse. On the other, he was no _less_ interested in me than he would be in any other human with coins in his purse. He was available, a quality sadly lacking in everyone else I know.

"Enjoy your day off," I said and did not look back.

"So," Varric said on our way back to the lounge, "how old do you think Jethann's information is?"

"Only one way to find out," I shrugged. "Anybody feel like a trip to the Undercity?"

We went by way of the Hanged Man. Carver and Anders were hungry. I was still contending with intestinal discomfort from my cheese-and-pickle dinner, so I declined. Anders scowled at that and muttered something about neglecting my health, but he was soon too annoyed with Isabela to pursue it.

As he predicted, she was intrigued by my change in costume. The gaze she cast my way shattered my composure and sent all the blood in my body to my cheeks. And then she decided to explore my newly-exposed skin with her fingertips... which sent it elsewhere. I had to leave the room to calm down after that, to hoots and whistles from Carver and Varric. The worst part was that I knew she did not mean it. She was responding to my bid for attention and my body was reacting as if she were sincere. It was a situation that embarrassed me greatly, but I had only myself to blame.

Edwina, the Hanged Man's other serving girl, was probably a more accurate mirror. She snorted derisively and muttered something about the place already having one tramp. Was that what Anders was driving at? Regardless, I will not wear this outfit again. As much as I would like to be universally desired, I am just not conditioned – or endowed – for the role.

While Anders and Carver finished their breakfast, I went home to put on my old, baggy pants and a tunic, a blue one that covered me from neck to knees. My flagging self-confidence revived immediately. I was no longer a shortish, bald-chested novice of a seducer with a queasy gut and bags under his eyes. Instead, I was a neatly-dressed young man with abilities most people did not possess... and a queasy gut and bags under his eyes. As far as image went, the latter was probably less pathetic. But only just.

"So, have you had your fun being shallow for today?" Anders asked when I got back.

"I've had a difficult few days," I tried to excuse myself. "I thought a shot of confidence would help."

He said something apologetic, but I was not listening. My innards were not happy with me, and they were making their presence felt. I prayed that nothing would happen to humiliate me further, but knowing my luck, it probably would.

"Have you got anything for rumbly guts?" I asked Anders in a whisper.

"At the clinic," he said. "We're going to the Undercity anyway. Will it wait?"

"Not for very much longer," I predicted.

"We'll go on ahead, then," he said, pushing his plate away. I felt terrible, dragging him away from his food, but given my weak digestion, I did not have much choice.

He was mercifully silent as we hurried to his clinic, and we made it just in time. Or close enough. He measured out the dose while I was indisposed, then offered it to me with a tumbler of water once I emerged from the back.

"Does this happen often?" he asked.

"Sometimes," I admitted. "Not too often, but it gets worse when I'm stressed. And these have been a rough few days."

"And you thought changing your life would help?"

"I didn't think it would hurt. I thought that if I tried hard enough, I could become somebody else."

"You can," he said, frowning, "but it wouldn't be better for you. Frankly, I don't see why you'd want to."

"Easy for you to say," I snorted. "You've already spread your wild oats across half of Ferelden."

"And I'd trade it all twice over for the chance at a normal life now. We both know why that can't happen."

"Don't make me attack you again," I warned him. "My bowels can't take it."

"Nothing changes, Iain," he sighed and sat down on his cot. "It means the world to me that you think that I'm mostly human, but the rest won't go away because we wish it would. Besides, we were talking about your obsession with sex, not my limitations."

"I don't have an obsession with sex."

He just looked at me, one eyebrow raised.

"Alright, I do," I sighed. "What do I do about it?"

"What do you think you should do about it?" he said rationally. "Not now, obviously. When you're feeling better."

I put my hand on his thigh. He gently removed it.

"Stop," he said sadly. "It cannot be. You know why."

"Justice? That's just an excuse."

"Then it's an excuse. I would rather hurt you by refusal than risk worse harm."

"Fine!" I shouted. I took a few steps toward the door, but my body betrayed me. My stormy exit turned into a mad dash for his privy. I stayed in there even after the cramps finally eased, angry and hurt at his repeated rejection, embarrassed about my mutinous bowels, and mortified at squabbling over something so childish. Even if this was not a completely inappropriate time to be arguing about the validity of his reasons for rejecting me, there was no excuse for my persistence.

No means no. It does not mean "Alright, but I've got to put up a little resistance." Nor does it mean "Wear something sexy and I'll think about it." It especially does not mean "Ask again tomorrow." It _does_, however, mean "I'm sorry to hurt you, but I just don't feel that way about you." It also means "Your inability to understand the word no is making you look like a fool. The more often you ask, the more grateful I am that I turned you down the first time."

"Iain?" Anders called.

"Leave me alone," I groaned, as ashamed of my juvenile behavior as I was powerless to prevent it.

"He's not well," I heard Anders say to someone, probably Varric. "I gave him something to combat it, but it doesn't seem to have been enough."

They were all waiting for me when I came out.

"Do you need more?" Anders asked, visibly concerned.

"I'm fine," I snapped and strode out of the clinic. The others followed, Anders still clutching the medicine bottle.

"Easy, Hawke," Varric chuckled. "You sure you're up to this?"

"I'll live," I growled. "Where should we begin our search?"

"Your friend Tomwise saw a templar not far from his pitch," Varric informed me. "He went down a level to a half-collapsed section and hasn't come out yet. If we go now, he may still be there."

"Let's go," was my laconic reply.

We found Emeric at the base of a narrow, rickety staircase. He was kneeling as if in prayer while a ring of thugs closed in around him. Fury bubbled up through my veins. All the anger, frustration, and self-loathing I was feeling surged through me. I raised my arms and unleashed the tempest. Men screamed, shot through with lightning I called forth from the rock. I made a fist and they scattered, crushed by a wave of invisible energy. I thrust out my hand and flames leapt from my palm, bursting with murderous intensity in the midst of the templar's attackers. I laughed like a mad thing as the bandits exploded. Varric loosed a volley of bolts from Bianca, but there was little left for him to hit.

"Wha- " Emeric stammered, dazed.

"You were knocked on the head," Anders explained, though his expression was just as shocked as the templar's. "You have been unconscious for some time."

"I've had the strangest dream..." he said, looking in wonder at the scorched bodies that lay around him.

"You were lucky to survive the chokedamp explosion," Varric informed him gravely, winking at me over his shoulder.

"Chokedamp?" Emeric repeated. "Yes, I see it now. How careless of me to bring a torch in here. Is everyone alright?"

"No harm done," Carver muttered, obviously disappointed to have had so little part in the battle.

"We're here to help with your investigation," Varric told Emeric.

"Not my investigation any longer," Emeric sighed. "I've come up with nothing."

"Your investigation led you here," Anders reminded him.

"Yes," he said hesitantly. "Mharen, one of our Circle mages, disappeared and I was hoping to pick up her trail."

"In Darktown?" Carver scowled. "You won't find any mages here."

"There are rumors of escape routes through the Undercity," Emeric said. "It was a long shot, I admit. Even if there were such a thing, Mharen has always been loyal."

"You have better means of tracking mages than that," I snorted, reckless. Anders took my arm, drawing me back, but I resisted. "Why not just use her phylactery to haul her back?"

"We tried," the templar sighed, oblivious to the improbability of my knowing anything about phylacteries at all. Perhaps he was still shaken. Or just stupid. "It led us to a Lowtown foundry, but it was a dead end."

"You don't find it ironic to use blood magic to track down your mages?" I heard myself ask. Anders put his arm around my shoulders and turned my face against his chest, smothering me into silence. His grip was like iron. I bit him, but he let out no cry. His hold only tightened. I was disappointed. I bit him again out of spite.

"Ser Emeric is busy, my friend," he said, his voice strained. "Perhaps we should get to the point."

"We're following another woman," Varric supplied. "Ninette de Carrac. You were asking about her?"

"I thought there might be some connection," Emeric shrugged. "Both had some association with an anonymous suitor who sent them white lilies."

"That's rather noteworthy," Anders observed.

"I thought so," Emeric agreed, "but it all came to naught. I will share my findings, if you wish, but it's time I stepped down. Were it not for that chokedamp explosion, you would be taking my papers from my corpse. I'm no longer the warrior I used to be."

"We'll do our best," Carver assured him. He thanked us and left.

"Andraste's armpits, Blondie," Varric swore once Emeric was gone, "what did you give him?"

"Nothing that would explain this!" Anders shuddered, releasing me. "Iain, come back to my clinic. You're obviously unwell."

"I'm fine," I insisted irritably. "Loot the bodies. These bastards had better have something on them."

"Are you _sure_ there was nothing wrong with the potion you gave him?" Varric asked again.

"Very funny," I retorted. "The old man said a foundry. Do we go now or wait for the workers to leave?"

They stood around and looked at each other, to my growing annoyance. I bent to inspect the corpses but found little of interest.

"Well?" I asked.

"Come, brother, let's go home," Carver suggested gently. Even he looked worried. "We've got a few hours before the streets empty out."

"If you want," I agreed. "We'll meet at the Hanged Man at sunset."

I allowed Carver to lead me home. Varric and Anders followed. Carver tried to bully me into bed, but I was having none of it. Peaches had to be walked, I insisted, and Wallace poked awake, and I had my journal to complete. Carver volunteered to walk Peaches himself, if only I would consent to let Anders look at me, but I steadfastly refused. In the end, he walked Peaches anyway, and I sit on my bunk and write while Mother, Anders, and Varric play cards for pebbles at the table. They think I'm sleeping, but I will go out shortly, whether Anders is still here or not. He was right about one thing. I do need to do something about my obsession. I never thought I would be throwing myself away on a whore, but what choice have I got? I hate the idea of spending hard-won coin on something most people get for free, but I am not most people. I cringe at the thought of my eventual... supplier... laughing at my desperation, but who else will have me? It is a transaction many people conduct. A fact of life. A source of income for those who need it. I am supporting the economy. A veritable pillar of the community. Let Anders follow me if he wishes; I will not hang my head.


	20. Chapter 20: Recovery

_The usual: Dragon Age II and all characters except Iain are owned by BioWare and EA. I just slip embarrassing notes under their doors._

_MATURITY WARNING: This chapter straddles the Teen/Mature border, which is giving it a wedgie. If anatomy offends you, try geography instead. Gah, inappropriate humor is inappropriate. This chapter deals with biology and the consequences of violence. It contains strong language. To be on the safe side, it should probably be considered RATED M._

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><p>9:31 Dragon, 21 Guardian: Gamlen's house, Lowtown<p>

"They brought him in the day before yesterday," a female voice exploded in my brain. The pain in my head was intense. I could not bear to open my eyes. "Not a stitch on him. He spoke once when we brought him in. 'Anders,' he said. I wouldn't bother you with this at all, but with the fever, he can't last much longer. We'll have to send the body somewhere."

"He said the word 'Anders'?" demanded another female voice. This one was more familiar, but I could not think. "On the short side; dark hair?"

"I think so," the guard said. "Hard to tell how tall he is."

"By the Void, it must be Hawke! If you tell me he's been here the whole time, I'll have your shield, so help me!"

"Maybe it isn't him!" the first voice squeaked.

An impossibly bright light shone in my face. I retreated, but the movement made me shriek in agony. I lost the next few moments to feverish gibbering.

"Maker!" the second, familiar woman gasped. "Hold on, Iain! We'll save you!"

"Get Brennan!" the familiar-sounding woman barked. "Tell her to go to the Gamlen Amell residence, Quarry Yard in the Old City, and fetch Carver Hawke. Tell him to bring Anders with him. Anders, you hear? It's imperative. If Carver's out searching, tell the same thing to the dwarf. One of them will be there. On second thought, go yourself. You know Quarry Yard?"

"Aye," the first woman said. "And I know Carver. We... er... well, it didn't work out."

"This is his brother," the familiar voice said. "Now move! Remember, whether you get Carver or the dwarf, Anders must come. Do it!"

Someone touched me. I tried to fight back, but I was too weak and too broken.

"Flames, you're burning up," the familiar voice groaned. "Tell me what's wrong!"

I tried to tell her to go away, but nothing came out but moans.

"Alright, Iain," she relented, retreating. "Just rest. Help will be here soon."

I had vague memories of being somewhere else, of being someone else, in a cave-like room filled with tables and beds, in the company of someone I could not bear to be parted from. At that moment, though, all I knew was the pain. It eased when I stopped thinking, so I sank back into the welcoming fog.

Time passed. I had no way to know how much. The woman was still there, but she did not touch me again. She smelled of iron. More voices approached.

"You'd better prepare yourself. He won't know you. We've done what we can for him, but it's almost the end."

"You'd just let him die here?" that was a male voice, and very familiar. My brother?

"Calm down, Carver!" the familiar woman's voice ordered. "He's lasted this long, he won't die now. Melina, this is a bit of a shock for Carver. Take him into the canteen and give him an ale. Make sure he drinks it slowly."

"The Void, I will!"

"Do it, Carver," the woman insisted. "_**Anders will help**_ get him ready to take to your uncle's. Understood?"

"Uh... yeah. Lead on, Melina."

"Oh, Iain," said another voice, one that sent shivers of anguish and longing through me. "What have they done to you?"

Abruptly, the fog in my head lifted. Without the protective insulation of incoherence, agony overwhelmed me, but after a moment, I could think again.

"Maker, Anders," I groaned. "Kill me... please."

"Sorry, Iain," Anders said. "I know it's excruciating. I need to talk to you, and I can't do that with your brain scrambled."

"How bad is he?," asked Varric.

"Bad," Anders said bluntly. "And that's why we need him to talk. What's the last thing you remember?"

"I was angry," I said through clenched teeth. "I was going to... oh, Maker."

A bout of shivering took hold of me, sending me into convulsions.

"That's enough," Anders said, wincing at my pain. "You don't remember the attack. Aveline, we need to move fast. Can you keep Melina away long enough for me to heal him and get him out of here?"

"Not likely," Aveline said. "We'd walk right by the canteen. If we put him on a stretcher and walk very carefully, will he make it as far as the brothel?"

"What?" I blanched.

"You need privacy and closed mouths," Anders agreed. "I don't like it, either, but it's that or cart-ride down the causeway."

"Bumpity bump," Varric added.

"Get the stretcher," I grunted.

They tried to be gentle, but by the feel of things, every bone in my body was broken. Anders put a strip of leather between my teeth, but I bit through it anyway. The trip to the Blooming Rose was not long, but by the time it was over, I had already blacked out twice from the pain.

"It isn't every day they come _in_ on stretchers," the short-haired concierge reflected. "Wait, I know you. Weren't you here the other day? Life hasn't been kind to you."

"What?" Aveline protested.

"Not me," I muttered weakly.

"We'll need a room, Viveka," Anders informed her.

"Sure," the woman agreed. "And if you see Serendipity, Leonato, and Cora before you go, you can have the room for free."

"Thank you," Anders replied.

"Should I tell Adriano he's back?" Viveka asked.

"You have him confused with someone else," Anders said firmly.

"If you say so," Viveka shrugged. "Do you mind using the staff dining room? The bedrooms are all reserved, at present."

"That's perfect," Anders agreed.

Carver and Aveline put the stretcher directly on the table and waited for further instruction from Anders.

"I only want to move him once," Anders said. "So when I give the word, roll him onto his left side. Slowly. He'll probably scream, but I need to look at his back, and there's no other way to do it."

Anders gave the signal, and I passed out. When I came to, he was running his hands over my back and thighs. I could feel his powers gliding across and through my body. He was not healing, exactly, merely exploring tissue and bone to sense the extent of the damage. I gasped when his probe extended to my buttocks and sphincter, but I was feeling too violated in general to protest the invasion.

"Well, that's something," he said, then gestured for Aveline and Carver to roll me back and cover me while he washed his hands.

"What was that?" I groaned.

"I need to heal you, Iain," he explained. "That will cure all of your injuries, even the little ones. Based on the boot prints, you were kicked to within an inch of your life by at least three different men. They stripped you naked and left you to die. I needed to know if their crimes included rape as well as battery and theft. They did not."

"What makes you so sure?" Carver sounded unconvinced. "He's got blood coming out of his ass."

"He has a fractured pelvis," Anders explained. "The jagged bone probably damaged his rectum, but he hasn't been penetrated from outside.."

"Are you absolutely positive?" Aveline asked. "It's been three days. The other evidence might have faded."

"Listen, you two," Anders protested, "he's in unspeakable pain and the infection in his gut could take him at any moment. We are not having this conversation now."

His face took on a look of intense concentration and he extended his hands over my body. Cool, healing energy flowed through me, soothing as it cleared away clots and mended torn muscle and cracked bone. After that passed, I felt a wholesome warmth in my belly as fresh, clean blood carried away the infection. I sat up when he was done, clutching the blanket around me. Anders almost fell down beside me, exhausted by his efforts. Aveline propped him back up and laid into him again.

"You'd better be right about that, Anders," Aveline doggedly returned to her rant. "In the absence of proof, we should assume the worst."

"It isn't like looking for evidence on a female," Anders sighed. "There's no lubrication back there, and I doubt they'd have bothered to grease him up first. Iain has never been with a man. He doesn't know how to relax those muscles voluntarily. If they tried to ride him dry and untutored, they'd have torn him apart. We'd have seen tears and abrasions, not a neat little pucker like his."

Aveline was undeterred. "If they did it while he was unconscious, 'those muscles' would already be relaxed."

"They were bent on business, not pleasure," Anders disagreed. "If you don't believe me, stick your finger in his ass and feel it for yourself."

"A lot of good that would do!" Aveline snarled. "You just healed away all the evidence!"

"Stop talking, both of you!" I pleaded. "Besides, if I don't remember, it doesn't matter."

"To Kirkwall, it does," Aveline said coldly, still glaring at Anders. "We will catch them, and when we do, I want them to feel the full weight of the law for what they've done."

"Um, I still don't remember what happened," I reminded her. "I can't tell you who did it."

"You may remember more later," Anders said wearily. "And it would be better if you did. If Aveline put me on the witness stand, I'd have a hard time explaining how I knew the full extent of your injuries."

"Good point," Aveline conceded. "I did not mean to make you uncomfortable, Iain. I just feel that I've let you down, that this should never have happened. What kind of guard captain -"

"It isn't your fault," I reassured her. "Blame Jeven for letting gangs run unchecked for so long. You'll teach them otherwise and I'll help you with that, but it won't happen overnight."

Aveline beamed at me.

"I'd better go pay off our room," Anders said, getting up to go treat his other patients. From nowhere, Varric let out a bellow of laughter.

"This is hardly the time," Aveline glowered.

"We were in too much of a hurry to get here," he chuckled. "Nobody remembered his clothes."

In the end, we decided to look for some clothing to borrow. I was desperate for a wash, so Aveline went off to find someone my size while I cleaned myself up. Anders returned before she did, and he amused himself poking and prodding the sites of previous injuries to make sure that he got every last scrape. His attention annoyed me greatly. I was still angry and hurt over his rejection of me, but I refrained from telling him to stop. I owed him my life.

Varric and Anders would accompany Carver and I home. Anders said that he needed to speak privately with me, and as for Varric, the Hanged Man was on our way. Aveline would return to the Keep with the stretcher. I thanked her profusely and apologized for the trouble I caused.

"Never thought I'd see your face in jail," she smiled. "It was the only place in Kirkwall we didn't look for you."

I bid her farewell and we set off. As we passed through the lounge, a tall, blond human squealed at the sight of me and ran off, up the stairs. Varric, Carver, and Anders all laughed. I groaned.

I said goodbye to Varric in front of the Hanged Man and thanked him for all the trouble he had been through on my behalf. He laughed and told me that he would do anything for a good story. I dreaded the truth in that, but I owed him too much to protest. From there, we went on to Gamlen's. Mother was waiting on the steps, and ran to embrace me before I was even across the courtyard. That accomplished, she thanked Anders and Carver and scolded me mercilessly for making her worry and putting my friends and my brother through so much distress. Carver loved it. Once we were inside, Carver went directly to bed. From the sound of things, none of them had slept while I was missing. I expected Anders to leave, but he sat down at the table instead.

"He needs to know what happened, Leandra," he told my mother. "And he hasn't taken any nourishment in days. Are you hungry, Iain?"

"I'm thirsty," I said greedily. "I'm still trying to make up my mind about food."

"You need it," Anders said, pouring me a cup of water and pushing some bread in front of me, "but not too much at one time."

"I'd like to know what happened, too," Leandra complained. "None of you will tell me."

"We're not telling anyone who wasn't there," Anders said calmly as I gulped down the water. He grabbed at the cup, but I held onto it. "Maker, Iain! Take sips, don't guzzle! Sorry, Leandra. Once Iain knows himself, he can decide what he wants to tell you."

"Oh, all right," Mother sighed. "I'll go write to the viscount again while you talk."

Anders took my hand as soon as Mother left the room.

"You must know how worried we were," he said, his voice shaking with the emotion he had been holding back until now. "And after what happened between us... How could I live with that?"

I sighed. Was I still angry with Anders? I lost three days. His world had changed in that time, but mine had not. My heart told me that our argument was too fresh to forget the pain so quickly, but Anders had endured three days of wondering if I was dead or made Tranquil. Three days spent knowing that our last words to each other were spoken in anger. In Anders's place, I would have been half-crazed with worry, but it was hard to let go of the pain. I compromised by speaking of my anger in the past tense. "I remember wanting to hurt you."

"You did," his fingers tightened around my hand. "We followed you to the brothel, you know. All three of us. You were behaving like a madman. We were sure you would do something foolish... like casting a fireball in front of a templar. Again."

"I wanted you to see me destroy myself. That's how much pain I felt."

"I know," he almost sobbed. "I felt it, too. And I knew you would go to the brothel. You wanted me to blame myself for driving you to it."

I nodded, miserable.

"We didn't wait for you, you know," he went on. "We thought you'd go wild, abuse a whore or two, and feel guilty about it afterward."

"You thought I would attack a prostitute?" I said, aghast. "And you let me go in?"

"You needed to get it out of your system. You wanted me to pay for the pain you were feeling. I could not do so in the way you wanted, so you chose Adriano, who's tall, blond, and human."

"No wonder he ran away from me!" I groaned.

"It wasn't quite like that," Anders smiled. "You told him up front that you intended to savage him mercilessly. He was quite looking forward to it, but when you got up to his room, you couldn't go through with it."

"Wait, what do you mean, I didn't go through with it?"

"You bent him over the bed rail, slapped his ass until he was delirious with lust, and nothing happened."

"I thought you said you didn't follow me inside!"

"I didn't. When you didn't show up at the Hanged Man, we thought you spent the night at the Rose. When you didn't come home the next morning, we went there ourselves to find you."

"We?"

"Varric, Carver, and I. No one else knew."

"Thank the Maker. But if you didn't arrive until the next day, how did you find out what went on?"

"Adriano was very chatty, once Varric paid him."

"And when you say nothing happened..."

"You stayed limp. Adriano was going to try some alternatives, but you fell apart. When you started sobbing, he panicked. He was all for a good solid trouncing, but grief terrifies him. He didn't know what to do with you, so he hid in the lounge. He was more embarrassed by his cowardice than afraid of you, just now."

I groaned and covered my face with my hands. I did not know which humiliated me more, my impotence or my collapse.

"You were distraught," Anders sighed. "I should never have let you leave my clinic in that condition."

"Then Emeric would be dead," I reminded him.

"One less templar and you would have been spared some embarrassment. Everybody wins!"

"Anders!" I gasped. "That's a man's life we're talking about!"

"And that's why I can't have nice things," he sighed.

"At least you don't make thieves explode," I reminded him. "Or make prostitutes cry. Or -"

"Let it go, Iain," Anders sighed. "It happens to everyone. Anyway, Adriano said that you stayed in his room until almost midnight."

"I did?" I asked. "I thought we were meeting at sundown."

"He said you were raving about making someone eat his heart out. I think you were trying to make me jealous by being so late."

"Alright," I summarized, groaning, "I went to the brothel, disappointed Adriano, and left. How did I wind up in jail?"

"Melina said that a patrol found you inside a doorway in Monument Square. Judging by how well-developed your bruises were and by how cold your skin was when they brought you in, she thinks you were lying there all night. With no family to claim you, all they could do was put you in an empty cell and hope for the best. The fools would have let you die before they sent to the Gallows for a healer."

"I don't think it would have helped," I shrugged. "Healing like you can do is uncommon, even among mages."

"Don't excuse their incompetence," Anders scolded. "They even knew you were missing! We told Aveline you were missing. We didn't tell her about Adriano or about... you and I... but we wanted her to enlist the guard for the search. The morons didn't even look in their own jail."

"I heard Aveline say she was searching for days," I defended her.

"She did," Anders agreed. "And she posted a description of you right on the duty roster. No wonder she was angry with Melina."

He scowled and ran graceful fingers through his already-disheveled hair.

"As for the attack itself," he went on, "Varric thinks that you left the Blooming Rose and turned into Monument Square on your way to the Lowtown causeway. Which makes sense. The other way would have taken you through the Dwarven Merchants' Guild, and after what happened there last time, you would have avoided it. Anyway, your attackers would have seen a lone person leaving an establishment that serves alcohol and counted you as an easy mark. They would have followed you and attacked you once you were out of sight of the guard stationed by the stairs that connect Hightown with the Docks. The bump on your head says that they hit you with a sap or a truncheon and knocked you out. Once you were down, they kicked you insensible, stripped you, and left you to die. Good thing that skull of yours is thicker than a mabari's."

"And they didn't...?" I asked hesitantly.

"I don't think so, no," he shook his head. "I half-expected you to be raw from your illness that morning, but your bottom is as healthy as any I've seen. Apart from a little dirt, but that's only to be expected, after two or three days in a coma."

While he spoke, I was picking the bread apart, stuffing chunk after chunk into my mouth. It was only once I started eating that I realized how hungry I was. Anders reached out and took the bread away from me.

"That's enough for now," he said. "You can have more later, but this is the first solid food you've had in at least three days. Let it settle before you put more on top of it."

"So," I sighed. "What do I do now? How long before Varric tells Isabela, do you think?"

"Varric won't tell Isabela," Anders reassured me. "None of us will. Some things really are to private for gossip. Even Carver knows that. You may need to explain why you were gone for the last few days, but 'I got knocked on the head and I just woke up' covers it. Isabela's binges last longer than that."

"And how do I face you, after everything we've been through?" I tried to swallow the lump in my throat, but it wouldn't go down. "I'll never stop wanting you, Anders. How can I see you each day, knowing that this is all we'll ever have?"

"I don't mean to sound callous, Iain, but wanting something does not mean you should have it," he said, putting the loaf back on the table. I reached for it eagerly, but he took it away again. "You want the rest of this bread. If I let you have it, you would eat it, and it would make you sick. It's much better for you if I give you a little bit now and save the rest for when you're stronger. I'm not doing this because I want you to go hungry. It hurts me to deny you anything. I'm doing it because your system can't handle that much food right now. I cannot allow harm to come to you, even if you hate me because of it."

"I could never hate you," I sighed. "I get angry, and I say things I shouldn't. You're stubborn. You'll never give in to me. You give me nothing but crumbs and tell me that's all that there is."

"Bread isn't the only food you can eat, Iain," he smiled sadly. "One day, you'll find the cake in the pantry and you won't want stale toast anymore."

"Why are we talking about food?" I asked him.

"We aren't," He sighed. I shook my head and sank back into the chair. "You should rest. After you take some more water. Your mother will want to know what happened. Do you want me to talk to her?"

I nodded. "Just don't tell her about Adriano. She won't understand."

"As far as I'm concerned, you were never there. You went for a stroll to clear your head."

"I'm worried about Ninette," I sighed and sipped the water he poured for me. "It's been three days. Could she still be alive?"

"You were," he pointed out. "And we don't know that she's actually in danger. She might have run off with a foundry owner who sends her lilies."

"I hope you're right," I shook my head. "Can I sleep now?" I've done nothing but sleep for days, but I'm still tired. You must be, too."

"I am," he admitted, "but I'll last long enough to talk to your mother."

"Will you be here when I wake up?" I asked.

"Yes," he said. "Your health will continue to improve, but you may have disturbing flashes of memory or fits of anxiety. I'd be happier if someone was with you."

I started to protest but changed my mind. I wanted him with me, whatever the reason.

With that, I lay down and slept. A short while later, I felt Anders lie down beside me on the bunk after a whispered goodnight from Mother. I did not touch him. I did not want to drive him away with too much clinging. Of course, Peaches had to climb into bed between us, and Wallace would not be outdone by a dog. My bunk is far too small for two grown men, a kitten, and a mabari, but for a while, we were all too weary to care.

It was probably the crowding that woke me, a short time later, and an urgent bladder. Mother was sleeping in the top bunk, probably worn out from worrying. She stirred as I climbed out from beneath Peaches, but I waved her back to bed. I will sleep more in a while, but I wanted to write down the truth in my journal before I forget what it is. So I nibble the bread as I write, and shake my head at the strange life I lead.


	21. Chapter 21: What Is Lost

_The usual: Dragon Age II and all characters except Iain are owned by BioWare and EA. I just make up stories behind their backs._

_Chapter Note: This is longer than I wanted it to be. Sorry about that._

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><p>9: 31 Dragon, 21 Guardian: Gamlen's house, Lowtown<p>

True to his word, Anders was still there when I woke up... and I was completely unprepared for it. He moved during the night, rolling closer and closer while we slept until he pinned me with my back to the wall. He lay on his side facing me, one arm supporting my neck and the other clutching me to his chest. His chin rested on top of my head and his free leg lay flung across my hip.

My confusion did not arise from finding someone else in my bed. Bunking up with my brother was the natural consequence of having a same-gendered sibling and a very small house. We awoke countless times to find that the other had shifted too close, sometimes embarrassingly so. The accepted etiquette was to prod the other sleeper firmly in the ribs and say "Get off" as gruffly as possible. At that point, the offending party would rectify the problem without acknowledging that there was one and grumble incoherently about the other being a bed hog. And then we would both go back to sleep with our dignities intact. Established protocol was no help in the grip of a full-body embrace by a person who would never have allowed it while awake. To make matters worse, my bladder was full. I resolved to wait. Propriety demanded that Anders "wake up" first and discover on his own that he had invaded my space. After an uncomfortable half hour of breathing body odor and holding my water, desperation forced me to act.

"Anders?" I whispered. He did not even twitch.

"Anders?" I repeated, louder this time. He jolted awake and clutched me even tighter for a moment before he realized where he was.

"Iain!" he gasped, limbs flailing in his haste to get away from me. I took the shortest route over him and rolled out of bed. He did not speak again until he heard that I was done.

He grunted something that sounded like a request to use the chamber pot. I mumbled something affirmative and went out to wait for him in the kitchen.

Mother was already awake. We exchanged sleepy good mornings and sat looking groggily at the table until Anders joined us.

"Did you sleep well?" Mother asked him.

"Yes, thank you," he replied, giving me an odd sideways glance. "I hate to impose –"

"You aren't," Mother said. "If you think he needs looking after, I won't argue. I've been trying to get him to take better care of himself for months. I don't think I've seen him without bruises, black eyes, or bloody lips since we came to Kirkwall."

"We need the coin, Mother," I reminded her. "We can't live here forever."

"I know," she sighed, casting a worried eye at the closed door to Gamlen's bedroom. "But you could at least eat better. I don't see Anders turning his nose up at breakfast."

"Speaking of which, I'd better put some on," I said, getting out the oatmeal and putting some water on to heat. "I want to check in with Varric this morning. Should we go to the foundry first, do you think?"

"Emeric went during the day and found nothing," Anders reflected. "We should probably wait until nightfall."

"So, what should we do until then?" I asked him.

"You should retrace your steps of three days ago," he said. "It might jog your memory."

"Is this something I really want to do?" I asked carefully. "I was rather... emotional... at the time."

"Then you know what you will face," he said calmly. "Until you can trust your own recollections, not second- or third-person accounts, you will always have doubts that no one can answer."

"Maybe we should talk about this later," I suggested, glancing at my mother.

"Keeping secrets from your own mother?" she said with a raised eyebrow. "The old bird knows more than you think she does."

I prayed that was not actually the case. "Have you considered the possibility that I don't want to talk about it at all and I'm hoping he forgets by the time we leave?"

"I did consider it, but you wouldn't be so dismissive toward someone who only wants to help you." Curse mothers and their adeptness with guilt.

"Alright, I'll go," I gave my reluctant consent. "Are you happy now?"

They declared that they were and left me to finish cooking breakfast. I put a thick slice of ham in a skillet for Carver and Anders. These days, my appetite is a fickle thing, but the two of them are always hungry.

With his usual timing, Carver awoke just as breakfast finished cooking. He declared that he would join Anders and I on our excursion. I protested, but, to my utter disbelief, Anders agreed with his plan.

"It would be good for you," he said. "It wasn't just you and I that day. It was you, me, Carver, and Varric. If we're going to reproduce your mental state, you'll need to have all of us with you."

"I don't want to reproduce my mental state!" I protested. "I never want to go through that again! Why is this so difficult for you to understand?"

"I do understand!" Anders retorted. "You think that by pretending that nothing happened, you can change the past. Look at me, Iain. Do you think I don't live with that every day of my life?"

"This is different," I fumbled, wishing I had chosen the path of least resistance at the outset. "You... I don't know. It just happened. I got konked on the head. If the Maker wanted that day to be a part of my life, He'd have kept me from getting konked in the first place."

"Do you think the Maker cares what you get up to?" Anders snorted. "You live by your own choices, not the Maker's will. I know what the Chant says, but it means nothing. The templars have been hiding behind Andraste for a thousand years, and they've been wrong the whole time."

I appealed to my mother for confirmation. She sat there, calmly mending a shirt while Anders proposed blasphemy. I could only look on in astonishment.

"What do you want me to say?" she shrugged. "The Maker gave you a brain, dear. He would have wanted you to use it."

My confusion was intense. I knew that the Chantry's teachings regarding magic were exaggerated to a ridiculous degree, in Kirkwall even more than elsewhere, but the concept of Fate with a capital F was something I relied upon, especially when my heart was troubled. If the Maker really had no plan for us all, and if everything that happened to me and was continuing to happen to me was a direct result of my own choices... well, it meant that I _caused_ the beating I received, and I found it hard to accept that. Without warning, I saw myself kneeling, arms raised protectively above my head, begging for my life. Fear paralyzed me. I screamed.

"Iain?" Carver's voice brought me back to the present. I was not on the floor. I stood petrified, frozen in the act of ladling oatmeal into his bowl. He, Anders, and Mother looked up at me, shock and concern on each of their faces.

"You said I lost consciousness immediately!" I accused Anders.

"We thought you did!' Carver gasped. "You mean you were awake and _let_ them beat the crap out of you?"

There was judgment in his voice. He saw my fear and knew me as a coward. I retreated from his stare.

"Easy, Carver," Anders said soothingly, taking my elbow and guiding me back to the table. "He's been through a lot. But don't you see, Iain, this is why you need to do this with people who care about you."

"No," I said, blushing at my massive overreaction. "I'm alright. It took me by surprise, but I'm better now. We'll all go together. I won't fall apart."

We left the house not long after and met Varric en route to the Hanged Man. He anticipated that we would be going somewhere today, even if he did not know where, exactly.

Nothing unexpected happened on the road to the Blooming Rose. Anders thought I should hold off on visiting Monument Square until I had discovered all I could from the brothel, so they brought me there by way of the Dwarven Merchants Guild. We had to wait quite a while to see Adriano. He was with a client, Viveka told us, so I stood at the bar while the other three fended off unwelcome attention. My exclusion as an object of desire no longer bothered me. My unfortunate experiment the other day proved that I am ill-suited to the part. This was progress, I supposed. And I was not universally despised. Adriano's reaction had been favorable. Yes, I was paying him, but he could have just lay there and let me take him. No, his arousal was real, and quite flattering.

"I remembered meeting Adriano," I informed Anders. "He was... happy to see me."

"That's good," Anders encouraged me. "Do you remember what you did together?"

"I don't want to hear this!" Carver protested.

"I'm not asking for details," Anders rolled his eyes. "'Yes' or 'no' will do."

I shook my head.

"We'll see if that changes when you meet him again," said Anders.

I slid some coins across the bar. With my purse lost to the thieves, I was dipping into my savings, but Carver and Varric looked bored. I could at least buy them an ale. With any luck, we would earn back the money soon enough.

"I heard someone was looking for me," Adriano said, gliding to my side. He flinched when he saw my bruises. "You didn't have a good day, did you, sweetie?"

"Uh, n-no," I stuttered. "Are you available? I won't take up much of your time, just a few moments. I wanted to talk to you."

"I'm always available for you, sugar," he said with a wink. "I'm a little busy today, but I'll certainly try to _**squeeze you in**_."

I ignored Carver's snickering and followed Adriano to his room. He closed the door behind me and crossed the room to sit down on the bed. He leaned back and extended his legs in front of him, seductively trailing the fingers of one hand up his thigh.

"What can I do for you today?" he purred.

"Maybe I should sit next to you?" I suggested, unsure what I should be doing.

"You most certainly should!" Adriano agreed. His robe dropped from his shoulders as if by magic, revealing a lean, taut body and... Adriano's proportions are impossible. The last time we met, I could barely close my fingers around him. So I did remember being with him, or at least part of it. Still, I had to see this through to its shameful conclusion. I sat beside him, dreading what came next.

"Touch me," Adriano coaxed me. "I can't give you a refund, but I can let you have me for the standard rate. We strive for customer satisfaction here."

"I can't," I sighed. "And not because I don't want to. I was robbed a few days ago, and I can't justify the expense, even at a discount."

"Oh, bother," Adriano rolled his eyes. "Half off the standard rate, then, but you'll have to settle for a wank. And if you can't get it up this time, you're on your own."

I cringed, but I put the coin on the table. Adriano reached over and unfastened my belt. And then it came back to me. My humiliation at hanging flaccid while Adriano lavished attention upon me. His heroic efforts at provoking a rise. It was not the violent, devastating impact I experienced at the breakfast table. It was more the slow, awkward recollection of something I was trying to forget.

His tongue traced a line down my throat while he unlaced my trousers. To my profound relief, everything seemed to be working the way it was supposed to work this time around. But I still could not do it.

"Thanks, Adriano," I said, standing up. "You're making my head spin, but I shouldn't be doing this. And while I appreciate your kindness to me, Madam Lusine sets your rate high for a reason. I shouldn't take advantage."

"But we were just starting to have fun together!" Adriano pouted.

"I know," I replied with what I hoped sounded like regret. "I'll be kicking myself all the way home, but once we get started, I won't be able to stop myself. With you to inspire me, I'd never be content with just hands. I'll save up my coin, and when I've got enough for the royal treatment, I'll come back and do it right."

I was lying, of course. I'll never set foot in the place again, if I can help it, but Adriano did not have to know that. My purpose in coming here was satisfied. Both the lost moments and my self-confidence were restored. It just wasn't right, leaving my three best friends downstairs while I got my staff polished. I refastened my clothing and went back into the corridor, leaving the coin on the table. Adriano had earned that much, and more.

"That was quick," Carver chuckled. "I'd be ashamed to come back so soon."

Varric, too, was amused, though he was at least trying to conceal it.

"You sure you're alright, Hawke?" he teased. "No pressure, or anything?"

"Get your head out of the gutter," I snorted. "I wasn't there for a romp."

"No?" Anders asked shyly.

"I could have if I wanted to," I said, hoping I would not have to explain. "I just didn't want to."

"I'm glad," he confessed. "I know you had things to resolve, but I don't like the idea of you exposing yourself to disease. The Blooming Rose and I have a lot of the same customers."

"Can we go now?" I asked.

Once we were outside, they made me walk on alone while they followed behind. For all the good it did. I walked to Monument Square, and started a tour of the perimeter. Nothing happened. If I strained my brain, I could still invoke the image that ruined my appetite for breakfast, but even that was getting foggier.

"It's no use," I sighed. "It's just not coming to me."

"Does this help?" Anders said grimly. He showed me a long-neglected alcove with a door on the far wall. The flagstones of the threshold were were stained brown with dried blood. "Sit in there. Put your hands on the pavement."

I did as he bid.

"Nothing."

"You really don't feel that?" Anders blinked. "You almost died there. Even I feel your pain."

"Anders..." I said carefully, "do you... If I were in a dark room, would you know that I was there? Would you know it was me?"

"I... No, of course not," he lied. I let it go.

"We tried," I said, standing back up and dusting off my backside. "I was lucky to regain as much as I did."

"Perhaps," he sighed. "You were lost in the Fade. It's as if your life was a play, but you weren't there to see it."

"At least I missed the boring part," I smiled.

"It's all the boring part," Carver snorted. "Can we go now?"

"You in a hurry, Junior?" Varric asked. "We've got nothing to do until nightfall. Unless you have ideas, Hawke?"

"Nothing leaps to mind."

"I should probably check in at the clinic," Anders sighed. "I've been neglecting my patients."

That provoked an instant surge of guilt. After all, I was the reason for his absence.

"I'll go with you," I volunteered.

"Maybe I'll join you," said Varric, bored. "I haven't seen fungus in a while."

"Sure, let's go visit the dregs," Carver said sarcastically. "Because, you know, we just don't see enough poverty in Lowtown."

"You got any better ideas?" Varric shrugged.

The nearest entrance to the Undercity was near the Chantry. Some half-ruined stairs led down to what might once have been a mine entrance. The ancient lift still functioned, so whenever we wanted to go from Hightown to Darktown, that was the route we took. Today, we did not make it that far.

A woman stood weeping not far from the Chanters' Board. She pleaded with a pair of templars, but they would not hear her. Disgust welled up inside me. How dare they, servants of the Maker that they claimed to be, ignore the suffering of one of His children? I went over to her once they were gone.

"Don't cry," I said gently. "They don't mean to be insensitive bastards. Or maybe they do, but we aren't."

"No, it's not that," she sobbed, looking up at me with exquisite turquoise eyes. Yes, looking up at me. So, there is one woman in Kirkwall shorter than me. Good to know. "I'm just worried about my brother, Keran."

"Is there something I can do to help?" I asked.

"Here we go again," Carver muttered, but I ignored him.

"He's a templar recruit," the young woman said. "I begged him not to join, but Keran has always been so devout. At first, he wrote every day, but now... I haven't had a letter in over a week!"

"And you suspect something?" I prompted.

"I don't know what to think!" she cried. "I've been trying to tell myself that he's busy or that he's training somewhere and can't write, but one hears such terrible rumors..."

"What kind of rumors?" I asked.

"About Knight-Commander Meredith," she said, lowering her voice to a whisper. "She's very, very strict, they say, and utterly without pity."

"Why am I not surprised?" Anders scowled. I was not surprised, either, but I did not want to frighten her without need.

"Would you like me to make some inquiries?" I asked. "If he is busy or if his training has taken him out of Kirkwall, someone will know how to reach him."

"Would you really do that for me?" she beamed.

"I will do all that I can to help you," I swore.

"Thank the Maker for your kindness!" she smiled shyly. "His friends might have news. I would have gone myself, but you've seen the response I get when I ask them. If you go to the Gallows, look for Wilmod or Hugh."

"I will," I said. "How should I reach you with news?"

"I'll... I'll be here," she said with obvious hesitation. Did she not want me to know where she lived? "My name is Macha."

"I'm Hawke," I said, smiling at our belated introduction. At that moment, the clouds overhead erupted, drenching us with a torrent of rain.

"Maker watch over you," she said hurriedly before she dashed off up the stairs of the Chantry.

"Did we just agree to hunt down a templar?" Anders asked, his eyebrow raised.

"It's her brother," I said as if that explained everything.

"She's cute," Varric observed.

Anders's scowl deepened.

We ducked into the stairway to the Undercity entrance to get out of the rain. As we stood there waiting for the first downpour to pass, I reflected on the task I had just accepted. Anders was right. I had just offered to help a templar. And the templar was the brother of an incredibly attractive young woman. Everything about her was lovely, from her shiny flaxen hair to her brilliant blue eyes and her glowing golden skin. Did I hope to impress her? If so, I was wasting my time. Pretty young ladies do not usually look twice at me unless I am doing something foolish.

"So," Anders said, "are we still going to the clinic, or are we chasing templars for Lady Fair?"

"We're going on to the clinic," I looked out at the rain. "It's a long walk to the Gallows, and Darktown is dry."

"And full of chokedamp," Anders reminded me. "It'll be rising now. Maybe the clinic is not such a good idea."

"There's always the Hanged Man," Varric said in his best wheedling voice. "Hot stew, cold ale, and all the gossip you can stomach."

While Anders, Varric, and Carver went back to Varric's suite to enjoy an early dinner, I went down to the common room to see if I could recoup some of the coin I had lost in the robbery. I joined a Diamondback game already in progress and to my absolute astonishment, I did rather well. I was ahead by almost two sovereigns when Anders came out in search of me.

"You can't keep doing this, Hawke," he said. "You've eaten nothing all day."

"The stew here is too heavy for me," I said, trying not to make eye contact with any of my card partners. I wondered if Anders could emasculate me any more than he did by scolding me about my diet in front of strangers. "I'm not all that hungry."

"Order a plate of cold chicken if you can't eat the stew," he suggested. "Once you start finding foods that don't make you sick, your appetite will improve. I've got tonics that will help."

"I'll be along in a bit," I said. He sighed and went back up the stairs. I returned to my game, but I might as well have followed Anders for all the luck I had after that. I did not lose all my winnings, but the pile in front of me was shrinking.

A short while later, Norah arrived with a covered platter. She smiled apologetically and set it down in front of me. I threw down the cards, gathered my remaining winnings, and got up from the table. I thought about leaving the food, leaving the room, even leaving the Hanged Man, but I realized how futile that would be. This was not just a way to pass a rainy afternoon. We were killing time until we could enter the foundry without the owner being the wiser. I took the plate and made my way toward Varric's parlor.

"So, how much did you lose, Hawke?" Varric greeted me.

"I'm up a little over a sovereign," I said smugly. "Not a bad afternoon's work."

I sat down and took the cover off the plate. It was cold chicken all right... under a blanket of half-congealed gravy. I scraped off as much as I could and tried to eat it anyway. It was revolting, but it kept Anders from nagging me.

"I hear Daisy's roof sprang a leak," Varric said mildly, looking at Carver. "All the rain we've been having, she must be up to her ankles."

"That landlord of hers is worthless," Carver agreed. "I'll stop by there tomorrow to see what I can do."

I chuckled, choked on my chicken, and sat gasping while Varric thumped my back and laughed at my inability to feed myself without mishap. I live to amuse my friends.

"You're turning into quite the odd jobs man," I coughed once I could breathe again.

"Don't see you going to help her," Carver scowled.

"Do you really want your brother up on a ladder?" Varric asked.

"Good point," Carver conceded.

I pushed the barely-touched food away. "It's got to be dark by now."

"It'll still be dark later, if you want to finish up," Varric said.

"I've had all I can take," I groaned. "Why does the cook hate us?"

"Most of his customers are drunk?" Varric hypothesized. "If you want something special, just bring him the food and he'll cook it for you. That's what I do when I get tired of greasy pork products. Not that there's anything wrong with greasy pork products, mind, but variety is nice, now and then."

"I'll keep that in mind," I said. "Do you remember which foundry we want?"

Varric nodded.

"We should go home and get Peaches," I said.

"Because dogs are known for their subtlety?" Anders snorted.

"Because dogs are known for their sense of smell," I said. "If the worst has come to pass, Peaches will find Ninette before we will."

"Lovely," Varric made a face. "Guess we should head out."

The foundry door was locked, but that presented no challenge to Varric. We were not really trying to be quiet. With Peaches romping beside us as if we were going for walkies, that would have been impossible. Even so, our entrance surprised a pair of men on the balcony that overlooked the foundry floor. They fled when they saw us, but the glow that surrounded them and unmistakable smell of ozone made their identities clear. I was not wrong. Shades sprang up from the ground and attacked. These weakest of demons were no challenge for us. Peaches had great fun snapping at them, in fact. Our abilities were better tested when more powerful demons joined in, but we were never in serious danger.

"Why does everything have to be about magic?" Carver grumbled as he sheathed his blade. I just sighed and hoped that Anders would not attempt to answer that question.

"So, where do we start?" I asked Varric.

"It's your gig," he shrugged. "I just supply the good looks and the witty one-liners."

I chuckled at that. We do need the levity. "Is there an office somewhere, do you think? Maybe there are records we could search?"

"Do most criminals keep notes?" Varric asked. "We'll look everywhere, but whatever we find, I don't think it will be in writing."

A search of the foundry yielded little more than a handful of useless junk and half a bottle of premium whiskey in a desk drawer. I saved the latter for Isabela. Varric was not thrilled with the idea of drinking somebody else's stash, but I would not expect that to bother her. Why would she care whose lips were on the bottle first? Not that I'd tell her that, though. I may one day find a use for my balls. What we did not find were clues to the whereabouts of Ninette or Mharen. I hated to admit it, but it was time to see what Peaches could do.

"Peaches, find the lady," I told him. He took off and started digging in a coal pile.

"No, Peaches," I sighed. "I did not say 'Find the most filthy thing you could roll around in.'"

He whined at me and kept digging. Eventually, he stopped rooting through the coal pile and tugged a canvas sack from beneath it, dropped it between my feet, and stood wagging his tail, waiting for praise. I patted him on the head, hoping this was not what I feared it was. I opened the bag.

"Maker's breath, Hawke!" Varric swore, coming to stand beside me while I hurled on the coal pile. "Is it that bad?"

"It's that bad," Anders said. I turned, absentmindedly wiping my mouth on my sleeve. He was peering into the sack, his expression grim. "The ring looks Orlesian."

"How can you tell through the blood?" I asked weakly.

"You've seen blood before, Iain," said Carver.

"It's a little worse than that," Anders explained. "Flayed human remains are never easy to look at."

"Emeric will want to see this," I said, recovering somewhat. "With the Gallows locked, we can't go see him until morning."

"I'll take them with me when I leave," Anders said. "I've got ice in the clinic. They'll be in better condition tomorrow if we can keep them cool until then."

"You aren't coming back with me tonight?" I asked feebly.

"I... don't think that's necessary," Anders said evasively. "You've made a good recovery and I don't think you need me there, imposing on your family and _**taking up space**_."

"I don't mind, really!" I protested.

"But I do," he said softly. "_**The temptation **_to take advantage of your family's goodwill _**is too strong**_. Please try to understand."

"I do," I replied, and found that I did. "I don't want to place you in an uncomfortable position."

"Thank you, Iain," he smiled ruefully. "I'd probably better get this home as soon as possible. Shall I come to your house in the morning?"

"We'll walk you as far as the gate," I offered. "I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm not up for cards tonight."

Varric and Carver declared that they were very much up for cards, so we parted ways as we left the foundry and Anders and I went on alone.

"About this morning..." Anders began once the others were out of earshot.

"I know," I reassured him. "You don't need to explain."

"I'm not used to it," he explained anyway. "I shared a bed with my brothers, just as you did, but that was years and years ago."

"I didn't know you had brothers!"

"I did," he said, looking away. "I... well, you know what happens when they take a child to the Circle. I was older than most, already half-grown, but I was still young enough to get used to sleeping alone. And after that, anyone I took to my bed was already my lover. I forgot myself while we slept. I can't let that happen again."

"I figured that out on my own," I said, smiling. "It's alright, Anders. I do understand."

"Thank you." He embraced me in parting. It was less than I wanted, but, like Anders, I must live in the present, not grieve over what I have lost.


	22. Chapter 22: Templars

_BioWare owns everyone but Iain. I just borrow their sweaters, sometimes._

* * *

><p>9:31 Dragon, 22 Guardian: Fox's Hollow, Sundermount West Face<p>

"No Anders?" Mother asked in lieu of her usual morning greeting.

"He... " This was awkward. "He didn't want to impose. He's not really used to... having people around."

"I was going to say something about that," she said candidly. "I'm grateful for all he's done for you, and I accept that one day, you'll form a household of your own, but given the nature of your relationship, would you mind bunking up with Carver while he's here? I like Anders and he's very good to you, but this _**is**_ Gamlen's house."

I blinked at her. Those were a lot of words for this early in the morning.

"Anders and I aren't... I mean..."

"It's alright, dear," she said. "I was looking forward to grandchildren one day, but you have to follow your heart."

"We aren't lovers!" I blurted.

"But the way he was holding you, I thought..."

"It was unintentional," I explained. "He was mortified, so please don't mention it in front of him."

"Then you're just friends?" The hopeful lilt in her voice hurt.

"I wish he did have feelings for me," I strove to keep my voice level, "but he doesn't. He cares, but not in that way."

"So," she sighed, "no grandchildren, one way or the other?"

"You're asking if I prefer men," I said bluntly.

"I only want you to be happy," she uttered the expected phrase. "You've always been so secretive about your affairs."

"That's because I haven't got any," I sighed.

"No one special in your life?" she asked.

"Nobody loves me but you," I kissed the top of her head. I kept my voice light, but my heart was lead in my chest.

My moment of self-pity was ruined by Wallace, who leapt off of a high shelf and entangled himself in my hair. He panicked at finding himself so confined and spent the next several heartbeats clawing at my scalp and mewing piteously. After I recovered from the shock of having a kitten land on my head, I extricated him from my hair and cradled him against my chest. The comfort was not much, but it helped. He was in no mood to be cuddled, however. He soon wriggled free and set off to explore the wild, uncharted lands of my shoulders and back, his needle-sharp talons extended the whole time.

Anders arrived in the midst of my "it's cute but it hurts" dance.

"Looks like Evie was right about him being a handful!" Anders laughed.

"He doesn't do that with me," Mother said, "just with the boys. Iain puts up with it, but it drives Carver mad. Will you have breakfast with us?"

"Thank you, Leandra, but Iain and I have urgent business in the Gallows this morning," he said. I stared at him. His hands were empty.

"You brought the... evidence?" I asked him.

"It's on the stair," he said. "Excuse me. I should not leave it unattended. I'll be outside when you're ready."

"I hoped I'd have time for a bath this morning," I lamented.

"I hoped you'd have time to eat something," Mother added.

"I'll get something in the market, I promise," I assured her. I went back into the bedroom to throw on a tunic and find my boots. Peaches was chewing on one of them. There is nothing quite as comical as guilt on the face of a mabari.

"Are we feeling neglected?" I asked him as I hopped around, pulling on my boots. "Come on, boy. Let's go bite some templars."

He sprang up at my invitation, wagging his stubby tail and head-butting my thighs.

"Alright, I'm moving!" I laughed.

"You're bringing the dog?" Anders asked when we got outside.

"He doesn't like being left behind," I shrugged. "Besides, if we have to intimidate any templars, Peaches can help."

"It might have helped if you gave him a more ferocious name," Anders observed.

"Like what?"

"I don't know. Wolfe?"

"He was too cute as a puppy," I smiled. Peaches had trotted ahead of us a short distance and was snapping at butterflies. "Maybe he still is. We'd better get Varric."

Varric was dressed and in the common room when we got there, though he looked rather haggard. After a brief consultation with Anders and a surreptitious healing spell disguised as a sneeze, his condition improved tremendously.

"Where have you been all my life?" Varric joked. "By the way, Hawke, the broody elf was looking for you. He's up in my room."

"Maker's breath," I groaned. "I'd better go deal with him. Keep an eye on Peaches, will you?"

Fenris stood near the fireplace, tracing designs on the mantlepiece.

"We parted on a tense note," he said. "Have you been well?"

"Well enough," I replied. "And you?"

"I chafe at inactivity," he said. I uncharitably wondered if he had run out of wine. "May I accompany you today?"

"Of course, though I confess I'm surprised that you'd want to. I thought you found my company disagreeable."

His ironic half-smile confused me. After his hostility toward Anders and, to a lesser extent, toward myself, I wanted to dislike him. Seeing the intelligence in his eyes and the self-mocking amusement on his lips, I found that I could not. Those lips should taste like sour cherries, I decided: lush and acidic with subtle, impossible-to-describe undertones. Why should I think such a thing? Forget my appetite. I should ask Anders if he has a tonic to subdue my libido.

"I... reserve judgment," he said with some hesitation. "Perhaps further acquaintance will allow us greater understanding of each other."

"I hope so," I agreed, "though I should warn you that we're going to the Gallows today. Some women were murdered and the templars are handling the investigation. I agreed to conduct the last phase myself and we go there to turn over our findings. Also, a... friend?... has a brother who's a recruit of the Order. His correspondence has fallen off and she's worried about him. I told her I'd look into it."

"You are helping the templars?" Fenris asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Shocking, I know," I allowed myself a smile. "I'd rather stay clear of them entirely, but people are more than just a profession."

"Interesting," he said enigmatically.

Anders was understandably less than thrilled with Fenris's inclusion, and I have no doubt that the feeling was mutual, but for now, they seemed content to follow in frosty silence.

We found Emeric at the base of an enormous bronze statue.

"I suppose there's no hope of finding Mharen and Ninette alive," he said with apparent sadness.

"I... " my throat felt tight. "I wish I had been able to act sooner. An injury forced me to postpone the search..."

"You did what you could," Emeric said. "I will speak to the First Enchanter. Could I ask you to inform Ninette's husband?"

I nodded.

"May I ask a favor of you in return?" I asked cautiously.

"Of course."

"Do you know a recruit named Keran? His sister is looking for him."

"The name is unfamiliar to me," he replied.

"How about Wilmod or Hugh?"

"Those two, I know," he said grimly. "They were involved with... but that need not concern you. Hugh is across the courtyard, where you see three clustered together. He is the taller of the two men."

"Thank you," I said.

"Before you go, accept this," Emeric said, pressing a cloth pouch into my hands. I felt coins inside. "It is not much, but it is the only way I can thank you for your assistance. It is a comfort, knowing that Mharen is with the Maker and that her suffering is over."

"Thank you," I repeated, but with more warmth than before. I appreciated his generosity, but his compassion for Mharen moved me deeply. He might not be the most clever investigator the templars possessed, but his humanity was a credit to his uniform.

This distinction became more obvious as we neared the three chatting recruits. I could not be sure what they were saying, but it sounded as if they anticipated their elevation to knighthood for entirely inappropriate reasons.

" -got a sweet ass, that's all I'm saying," said the hard-faced woman.

"Won't be so sweet once I get through with it," the man who was not Hugh laughed. "Soon as I get some clout -"

"Not now, Paxley," Hugh hissed, looking pointedly in my direction.

"Excuse me," I said. "I was hoping you might be able to tell me the where Keran is. I understand he is a friend of yours."

"Haven't seen him in days," Hugh grunted.

"I was looking for him, too," Paxley said. "Bastard owes me half a sovereign from his jaunt with -"

"Paxley?" the woman interrupted. "Shut it."

"You shut it, Ruvena," Paxley retorted. "Everyone knows you're just bitter because he turned you down after he stuck it to -"

"Shut up!" his friends shouted.

"Anyway, that wasn't why I was looking for him," Paxley harrumphed. "I thought he might know where Wilmod's got to. Bastard borrowed my regulation gauntlets, and with the inspection coming up..."

His voice trailed off and his overly-groomed, brainless face took on a look of reflection.

"Wait," he went on, "he borrowed them for his own inspection. Right before that special detail he and Keran had."

"I heard about that!" Hugh said, startled. "There's supposed to be some new kind of test Meredith's putting us through. A regular ordeal. And I hear that if you aren't loyal enough -"

"And they never come back from it!" Paxley gasped. "Don't tell me she's killing recruits!"

"Wilmod came back," Ruvena said.

"What?" asked the other two.

"It's true," she shrugged. "Saw him this morning. He's gone again now, though, so good luck passing inspection without your gauntlets."

"Damnation!" Paxley swore. "Where did he go?"

"Knight-Captain Cullen hauled him off on some kind of retreat," Ruvena said. "You know, that camp site we went to that one time with -"

"That was fun." The lecherous expression on Hugh's otherwise insipid face made me cringe. "You do mean the one at Fox's Hollow? Sundermount West Face?"

"That's the one!" Ruvena said, a wicked gleam in her eye. "Wilmod won't be spending the day grabbing his ankles on that trip, though. Word is Cullen's still hung up on some Ferelden tart. What are you looking at?"

The last was directed at me, together with an unmistakable "move along" gesture.

"Forgive me," I said. "I was just leaving."

"Get on with it," Paxley barked.

"So, how 'bout the ass on that one? Tight, I bet." I heard as I walked away. I just shook my head, pitying the object of their admiration.

"Bloody useless," Anders muttered as we reached the open portcullis that controlled access to the Gallows.

"On the contrary," Varric said. "We heard everything we needed to know. We'll find Wilmod at Fox's Hollow on the western side of Sundermount. Bet it's even marked on Hawke's map."

"I bet you're right!" Anders said, startled. "I was so busy trying not to hear what they were saying that I missed that part."

"I almost want to go back and talk to Emeric again to get the taste out of my mouth," I agreed. "I hate the idea of so much responsibility resting in those hands."

"Are you going to tell Ghyslain now or when we get back?" Anders asked.

"I would want to know as soon as possible, if I were him," I sighed. "I don't know what their relationship was like, but even if they were no more than roommates, he's still going to miss her. I wish I knew of a way to soften the blow."

"I anticipated your desire," he said, holding out an ornate golden ring.

"Ninette's wedding ring!"

"It will give him closure," he nodded. "I cleaned it up last night when I got home."

"Thank you! That's just what I was looking for. There's nothing we can do to bring back Ninette, but at least he'll have something to remember her by."

"Do you have another one for Jethann?" Varric asked. I hoped he was joking.

"Will we really have to tell him, do you think?" I quailed at the thought of going back to the Blooming Rose.

"He did seem to care about her," Anders remarked.

"Alright, I'll go," I groaned. "But I don't want to see Adriano."

"Adriano?" Fenris asked.

"Hawke had a rough night, a few days ago," Varric shrugged.

"That seems to happen quite often," Fenris observed.

"Iain was -" Anders began to protest.

"Let it go," I interrupted. "Please."

"Did you want to go looking for that templar kid today?" Varric changed the subject.

"Last time I did not follow a trail immediately, two women died," I reminded him.

"It was never going to be a rescue," Anders said gently. "Those women were not only killed, they were butchered. It would have been messy. I don't remember seeing any blood in there, do you?"

"No, I don't, now that you mention it. Where do you think they were killed?"

"I don't know," Anders said, "but it wasn't there. No, we found the body parts there because that was where the killer brought them for disposal. They would have been shoveled into the furnaces to fuel the smelters along with the coal."

"Good thing you did get laid up for a few days," Varric mused. "If we'd gone there that night, we wouldn't have had any better luck than Emeric."

"I still think we should go as soon as possible," I said.

"We'll never get out of Kirkwall before midday," Varric observed. "And if we've got to go around picking up everyone's gear, we'll be lucky to get out by dark."

"Would anyone mind going on ahead to get their own gear while I talk to Ghyslain and Jethann?" I suggested. "I could pick up provisions on my way to the Hanged Man to meet everyone."

There were no objections. Varric even volunteered to stop off at Gamlen's to retrieve my bedroll and backpack. He teased me about being able to find my way back to the Hanged Man by myself, but that was only to be expected.

An hour later, I was on my way back to Lowtown myself. Ghyslain bore the news of his wife's death with surprising fortitude. He was grateful for the ring, but he did not treasure it. He planned to send it to his wife's family as appeasement. Perhaps I should not judge him so harshly. I could not bring myself to tell him how she died, so the full horror of her death was unknown to him. Was it cowardice or pity that kept me silent? In any case, he rewarded me generously. Jethann was much more emotional when I told him. He fled the room in tears. Perhaps I should have allowed him to continue to think that Ninette had run off with someone who could make her happy, but once I resolved to tell him, I had to go through with it. At least it was done. I could put the case behind me and move on to the next.

Why did I tell Varric that I would purchase provisions? I did not know what to buy. I walked between the food vendors trying to find something that would keep until nightfall. Something that both Peaches and I could eat. My dog has not yet had the opportunity to get out of the city and I was not about to leave him home indefinitely. In the end, I bought a bag of dried beef and a bunch of carrots. The former did not look too fatty, and as long as we found water, I could make up a stew that would feed Peaches, myself and everyone else without making me carry the weight of the world in my pack. That accomplished, I looked for something to eat now. My favorite baker was just setting out some of her cheese breadrolls, so I bought half a dozen, ate one, gave Peaches another, and saved the rest for my companions. They were all waiting at the Hanged Man. Isabela was there, too, but her interest in our excursion was limited to flirting with Fenris, who didn't seem pleased by her interest.

We encountered another party of travelers on our way to the templar campsite, a dwarf and his hirelings beset by some spiders. When the last spider lay dead, the dwarf, approached us with an offer.

"You might be just what I'm looking for," he said.

"Thanks, but Varric's the only dwarf for me," I replied, to Varric's amusement.

"What?" the other blinked. "That's disgusting. No, you might be able to help with a little problem I have. Javaris Tintop's the name, and I'm your new best friend. The Qunari have this powder, see? Blows things up. No lyrium, no demons, just BOOM!"

"And you want it."

"Wouldn't you? Anyway, point is, they aren't selling."

"The Qunari are no fools," Fenris explained. "Distributed to everyone... I cannot imagine the chaos."

Javaris ignored him. "I thought their Arishok might be more inclined to sell if we did a little favor for him, like getting rid of something that annoys him more than, say, me."

"That can't be a very long list," I quipped. I have no idea what was wrong with me.

"I meant the Tal-Vashoth," Javaris said with a glare. "Thieves and outlaws, even among their own people. What do you say?"

"I don't mind hunting outlaws," I took the bait.

"A wise decision," he grinned. "They've got a base up the Wounded Coast. Meet me at the Qunari Compound when you're done."

And with that, he was gone. I just looked at Varric and shrugged.

"We need the coin," I explained.

Regardless, we were soon on our way again, and we reached Fox's Hollow without further incident.

We arrived in the middle of a confrontation. A tall, good-looking templar was grilling a boy about his off-hour activities. It grew heated and the senior templar drew his sword on the recruit.

"Stop!" I cried. I leapt forward to place myself between the two, but I was too late.

"You will never strike me again, fool!" the younger templar sneered. He... changed. The veins in his neck thickened into ropes. His face twisted into a grotesque parody of humanity.

"Anders!" I gasped. "What is that thing?"

"It's an abomination," Anders said grimly. "Kill it."

The still-human templar, Knight-Captain Cullen, tried to defend himself, but the abomination was already upon him. We leapt in to render aid, but with Anders and I unable to use magic, we were severely hindered. Fenris, Peaches and Varric were of more use to him, but when the abomination that was once Wilmod started summoning demons to assist, even they were hard pressed to stay alive. Cullen was driven back to the edge of a precipice. He fought well, but demons were closing in around him and he had nowhere left to go.

"Andraste protect me!" I cried and threw myself across the distance between us. I stood beside Cullen on the ledge, lashing out with my staff. For a few moments, it looked as if it would be enough, but more came at us. I was damaging them, but they ignored me, concentrating all of their ferocity on Cullen. He was beginning to falter. I knew that if I used magic, Cullen would brand me an apostate and drag me off to the Circle, if he did not kill me on the spot. If I did not use magic... I made my choice.

A semicircle of icy spokes shot upwards between Cullen and his attackers. Some of the shades froze solid and evaporated into dark smoke. The fiery rage demon did not dissipate, but it was slowed considerably. Another blast of ice from my hand finished it off. Cullen looked at me in disbelief. Cold blue eyes met mine and I knew that I was lost.

"Get Wilmod!" he bellowed at me.

I began to gather my will, but it was already over, Anders's staff came down hard on the abomination's skull and it fell. When it hit the ground, it was Wilmod's body that lay dead.

"I knew!" Cullen panted, turning toward me. I steeled myself for the blow of his sword.

"I knew he was up to no good!" Cullen finished, still trying to catch his breath. I exhaled.

"Is it possible that he was possessed?" I asked carefully.

"Usually, it's the mages we worry about," Cullen said. "Though I have heard that blood mages can summon demons into unwilling hosts. I had not thought one of our own recruits would fall prey."

"If you knew he was involved in something dangerous, you should have traveled with a larger group," I said. His eyes narrowed, but he let my impertinence go.

"I am Knight-Captain Cullen," he introduced himself. "I thank you for your help. I have been investigating the activities of recruits who have been absent without leave. Wilmod was one. I hoped to question him quietly, away from his cronies."

"They think Wilmod was forced to undergo some secret and arduous trial as the final part of his training," I said.

"That's preposterous!" Cullen snorted. "He would have had to stand vigil over his arms, had he not gone all red and vein-y just now, but I assure you that there is no ordeal. Where do they come up with these rumors?"

"You mentioned an investigation," I reminded him. "Do you have any idea what Wilmod and the others were doing while they were gone?"

"Obviously more than we suspected," he replied. "Wilmod has never been as obedient as one would wish. He was rather too liberal, I fear."

His gaze met mine once again. I saw challenge there.

"Mages cannot be our friends," he said pointedly. "A lesson it seems he forgot."

"And if ones friends are mages?" I asked, aware that I was goading him. If he was going to condemn me, I wanted it to be now. I did not want my mother to have to watch them drag me away in chains.

"During the Blight, abominations took over the Circle in Ferelden," he said, his eyes still locked with mine. "I was there. I saw how our trust and our leniency were repaid."

"Trust and leniency!" Anders snorted. "Is that what you call it?"

I reached out to stop him from destroying himself, but Cullen went on, oblivious to everyone present but me.

"I still have nightmares of Uldred's depravity," he said slowly. "How he turned us against ourselves... used our own thoughts to betray us. That is the true face of evil, my friend. Pray that you never behold it."

I did not know why Cullen chose to ignore the spells I cast six inches from his face, but he seemed inclined to do just that.

"Wilmod came here with you voluntarily," I said, "yet you attacked him. Why?"

"This was not the first time Wilmod disappeared," he replied. "I needed to know where he was going and I hoped I could frighten him into a confession."

I nodded.

"What of your presence?" he asked. "What brings you so far from civilization?"

"I'm looking for Wilmod's friend, Keran," I answered. "His sister is worried about him."

"As am I," he sighed. "Keran has gone missing as well. They were last seen together, at the Blooming Rose. I went myself to investigate, but..."

A slow flush crept up his cheeks.

"The young... ladies there will not speak to me," he admitted, his face scarlet. "They fear I will shut them down for serving recruits."

"I understand your dilema," I said with total empathy.

"Why don't you let Hawke have a try," Varric suggested wickedly, no doubt as payback for my comment to Javaris. "He's got at least one friend who works there."

"The Order would truly be in your debt if you helped us with this," Cullen said hopefully.

My options were limited. Despite the Knight-Captain's reluctance to collar me on the spot, his gratitude would fade over time. He had heard the name Hawke and it would only be a matter of time before he discovered where I live. I have never been keen on tattoos of any kind. A lyrium sunburst on my forehead would do little to improve my appearance.

"Very well," I consented. "Only one question now remains. What do we do with the body?"

"I will return to Kirkwall and fetch help to retrieve it," he said. "Would you be willing to guard the body while I'm gone? You need not stay by it past sunup, however. I don't want scavengers to get it, but I doubt many will be active between dawn and mid-morning, when I return."

"I will stay," I agreed.

"You have my thanks," he said. "When you have news of Keran, come find me in the Gallows. I will ensure that your reward is on hand."

We bid each other farewell and Knight-Captain Cullen set off down the path we ascended.

"That has got to be the most asinine thing I have ever seen you do!" Anders lashed into me as soon as he was gone. "What were you thinking?"

"I was thinking that if I didn't do something soon, he'd die," I replied. "Besides, he didn't say anything about turning you in, and he must have recognized you, if you're both from the Ferelden Circle."

"I've never seen him before in my life," Anders said, only slightly mollified. "I was in solitary confinement during the abomination incident."

"But you must have met him at one point before that, or after," I said, digging through my pack for my cooking pot.

"That would depend on how long he was there," Anders said in an emotionless voice I had not heard before. "I was locked up for over a year."

"That's horrible!"

"Oh, I wouldn't say that," he said sarcastically. "I had Mr Wiggums for company. Until he turned into an abomination, of course."

"Your cat turned into an abomination?" Fenris sneered."Why am I not surprised?"

I just sighed and shook my head. It was probably a mistake, talking about the Circle at all with Fenris around. It was easy to forget that Anders and I were not the only two people in the world.

"Still, a year is a long time," I said.

"Why do you think I'm so glad when you visit me at the clinic?" he smiled.

"What's for dinner?" Varric asked, peering into the bag of beef strips. "Oh, shoe leather. Haven't had that in a while."

"It'll be stew once I add water and carrots," I said defensively.

"And you complain about the food at the Hanged Man?" he chuckled.

"I've got some very good bread to go with it," I offered. "But none of that until after the stew's cooked, and it will go a lot faster if somebody gets water while I make the fire."

"What do we do with our friend?" Fenris asked, nodding toward Wilmod's body.

"Would you put this over him?" I asked, handing him my blanket. "It feels odd, having him looking at us like that."

Fenris did as I asked, and then he and Varric went to get water, leaving Anders and I to make up the fire. With Fenris away, we gave it some help and had a roaring blaze going by the time they returned.

Dinner was unexciting. The stew was edible but bland, the bread had gone stale, and we had no ale, but at least we were eating it here instead of the Gallows. The night turned cold while we ate, and though I regretted giving up my blanket to cover a dead man, I did not want it back now. I've been cold before, and besides, with a mabari to cuddle while I sleep, the temperature will not be a problem.

I worry about what tomorrow will bring. Will Cullen come early, with templars enough to arrest me? Will I die of embarrassment upon visiting the brothel _**again**_? Will Fenris and Anders kill each other before we break camp? I think through the events of the day and I marvel at the differences between the templars I met along the way. The quiet dignity of Emeric, the coarse brutality of Hugh and his friends, the honorable discretion of Cullen, and lastly, the deluded tragedy of Wilmod, dead on the ground where he fell. Do they ever think of us the same way?


	23. Chapter 23: Finding Keran

_BioWare owns everyone but Iain. My brain just dives in for a swim in their gutters. (Thanks for the hint for the mandatory disclaimer joke, Skadi!)_

* * *

><p>9:31 Dragon, 23 Guardian; Gamlen's house, Lowtown<p>

It was a mistake to agree to camp at Fox's Hollow. Between the cold and the presence of the dead templar, I spent most of the night with my eyes open, peering into the darkness and jumping at every sound. I was grateful when dawn finally arrived.

The others woke early as well. Nobody said much as we prepared to break camp. There was really not much to say.

"You want to take a different route back to Kirkwall?" Varric broke the silence.

"I don't think that's necessary," I answered. "Cullen wants me to find Keran for him. If he's going to collar me, he won't do it until that is accomplished."

"That's a cheerful thought," Varric remarked and fell silent again.

We did not encounter any templars on the trip back to Kirkwall. Whether this was because Cullen led them by a different route or because they got a late start, I did not know. In any case, we reached Kirkwall safely a few hours after dawn.

"I suppose it's too much to hope the whole house won't be up," I sighed. "I really need a bath, but I hate doing it when Gamlen's awake. He counts every stick of kindling, I swear it."

"Come to the clinic," Anders suggested. "The tub's in the back and you won't be disturbed."

"Thanks, but I'm chilled to the bone. A cold bath right now would make my heart stop."

"You can heat the water yourself," he smiled. "Didn't you ever learn any practical uses for your talents?"

"That's right," Fenris scowled, "encourage him to use magic without need. Teach him to abuse his powers."

I groaned. "No one ever turned to blood magic because they wanted a hot bath, Fenris."

"It is but a step on the journey," Fenris insisted. "Today, you satisfy your cravings for physical comfort. Tomorrow, you compel another to your bed. From there, no whim will be too trivial for you to indulge."

"This is Hawke we're talking about," Varric joked. "He likes to do everything the hard way."

Thankfully, we reached the Hanged Man and parted ways. Fenris was still grumbling about my hedonism leading me astray, but he waved his farewell and crossed into the market on his way to the causeway.

Anders and I went on to Gamlen's house to collect clean clothing, but Gamlen was in no mood to entertain, or even tolerate, guests. Rather than make a scene, Anders elected to wait outside. Gamlen's inhospitality shamed me, but after Gamlen barked "Haven't you got someplace else to be?" at him, there was really nothing I could say to persuade him to come inside.

"What was that all about?" I asked Carver as I pulled out some clean clothes.

"He got into a dispute with a neighbor," he said. "Old grudges, apparently."

"Imagine that," I said blandly. "Feel like watching your brother make a fool of himself again?"

"Sounds good. Where's everyone meeting?"

"The usual spot, two hours from now."

"Right. See you there."

Anders was sitting on the steps when I emerged. He accepted my excuses for Gamlen's rudeness with good grace, but I was still embarrassed. The sooner I can get out of this house, the better.

"So, this hot water thing," I said. "I take it that it's just a scaled-down version of a regular fire spell?"

"More or less," he agreed. "You're used to casting as a balls-out assault, but you can hold back. And while you can direct diminished spells at inanimate objects, you can also target people. The effects of some of them are surprisingly pleasurable."

"Like Isabela's favorite memory of the Pearl?"

"Exactly like that. Though I would recommend practicing your control extensively before trying anything on another person."

"So, you're telling me that you've got excellent control?" I teased him.

"Better than you will ever know," he said with unexpected bitterness.

It was probably over Fenris, but I let it go. We were at the door to his clinic. A small group of people stood outside. I was lanced by another surge of guilt for keeping him away from those who needed him, but none of these people appeared to be gravely ill. Anders recognized one of the women, apparently, a prostitute, judging from her attire.

"You and I need to talk," He said as he unlocked the door. "I'll see you last, after I've treated the others."

He opened the door and ushered his patients into the clinic. He bade them form an orderly cue and escorted me into the back.

"I wanted to be on hand while you practice," he said, "but I had better save my energy for my patients. Just concentrate on holding back. Release a little bit at a time until the water is the temperature you want. No fireballs, alright? My patients aren't shy about magic, but the kind I do doesn't come with lights or explosions."

It took a few tries to achieve the right water temperature. My first attempt was a little too vigorous. It lit the clinic with a flash of amber light and elicited gasps from the patients and an exasperated "Iain!" from Anders. My next ones were far more subtle, though, almost ineffective, but I did notice the water temperature rise slightly after each of them.

Throughout the course of my bath, I listened to Anders's quiet instructions to his patients. I could not make out most of them, but I heard the last one quite clearly.

"You need to start saying no," Anders said, presumably to the prostitute. "You should refuse any clients who show obvious signs of disease."

"I know," she replied. Her voice had an odd, whining quality to it. "But they pay more than healthy ones. And I don't _always_ catch what they've got."

"It takes days for the symptoms to appear. Meanwhile, you spread the infection, and not everyone who contracts the disease will seek treatment."

"A woman's got to eat."

"You have as much right to earn a living as the next person, but you owe it to yourself and to your customers to be as healthy as you can."

"You try saying that to a sailor who's not seen a woman in six weeks."

"Go on," he said, though there was no sting in his tone, "get out of here so I can clean up. And no more bumpy rides, alright?"

"Spoilsport. So, do you want coin or a tumble?"

"Coin, if you please. A man's got to eat, too."

"See you next week."

"Do you listen to _anything_ I say?"

Anders appeared behind the screen just as I was getting out of the tub, but his presence no longer unnerves me the way it once did. I have no secrets from him. Not anymore. He reached for the soap and went over to the basin to wash his hands.

"I don't think I got through to her," Anders observed.

"You could stop treating her," I suggested, though I did not mean it.

"And be responsible for the start of an epidemic?" Anders chuckled. "So, did you get the hang of casting diminished spells?"

In answer I reached out and gave him a light jolt to the rump. Or at least I intended it to be a light jolt. His entire body twitched as the current passed through him

"Apparently not," he said, glaring at me.

"Sorry," I cringed. "That was a bit harder than I intended."

"It isn't a game, Iain. I meant it when I said you need perfect control before you try it on others."

"I am truly sorry, Anders. You are the last person in Thedas I would want to see hurt."

I finished dressing while Anders pulled on a fresh shirt. I was tempted to watch him, but I resisted. My willpower is improving.

"You are coming with me, aren't you? I asked him. "I don't think I can do this without you."

"I'm tempted to make you, after that shock you gave me," Anders said. "But I'll go."

"We'd better head back to the Hanged Man, then," I said. "I really wish there was a tunnel that connects them."

"Your geography really is bad. This part of the Undercity is under Hightown. We're directly below Viscount's Way, as a matter of fact."

"That's right, I forgot. The Amell estate cellars let out right outside your door... not that I have access to them, of course. Mother still writes to the viscount once a week, but the letters come back unopened."

"It gives her something to do," Anders said, locking the door behind us.

Carver and Isabela were waiting at the Hanged Man for us.

"Varric got called to Hightown on family business," Carver informed me.

"Ooh, take me! Take me!" Isabela cried, waving her hand in the air.

"Sure," I assented, though I was groaning inside. She was bound to laugh at me, I knew it.

"Any sign of Fenris?" I asked.

"No, should there be?" Carver shrugged.

"He wanted to be more involved with our activities," I said. "If he isn't here by the time we're done with breakfast, we'll go on without him."

We sat down to a leisurely meal in the common room. I was too nervous to eat, but Anders said nothing about it, praise the Maker. During the meal, a runner arrived stating the Varric was detained, but he hoped to meet us in the Dwarven Merchants' Guild courtyard when his business was concluded. There was still no sign of Fenris, but we could not wait in the Hanged Man forever.

At the Blooming Rose, Viveka, the hostess, welcomed me with a warm "You're looking better, honey! What can we do for you today?" I cringed at her familiarity, especially since Gamlen was sitting at the bar not five yards distant, but there was nothing I could do about it. I have been in here several times. If Viveka is becoming accustomed to my face, I have no one but myself to blame.

"I have some questions about some templar recruits, Wilmod and Keran," I dived in. "I understand that they were regular customers."

"Our guests expect privacy," Viveka said pointedly.

"Please. People's lives are at stake."

"That's a little dramatic, don't you think? Let's take a look at the books."

Her idea of privacy was not much, it seemed. A huge register stood open on the bar. She scanned it, repeating Keran's name while she looked.

"Ah, here it is. Keran. He did come here a lot. He must have had a lot of free time... and loose coin."

"Did he have a favorite?" I prayed that it was not Adriano.

"Idunna, the Exotic Wonder of the East," Viveka intoned in a mocking voice.

"How exotic, do you think?"

"You should hear some of the names they come up with. Most people are reluctant to use their real names, staff and customers alike. Fortunately for you, your Keran was not that clever."

"Thank you," I said. "I'll just go up and speak to her, if that's alright."

"Standard rates, honey," she said. "She's a Darktown tramp, but you've still got to pay for it."

I grumbled, but I got out my purse.

We climbed the stairs, went up to the door, and I froze. I felt as if my stomach were full of snakes, all trying to get out at once. Two silken arms wrapped around me while questing fingers explored my chest and made their way down my abdomen. The woman behind me drew breath and massive breasts pressed against my back.

"If you don't open this door," Isabela purred, "I'll have to take you right here."

As if to emphasize her point, her hands dipped below my waist, threatening regions no woman has touched since I was old enough to bathe myself. I flung open the door and threw myself inside. If her plan was to make me more afraid of her than I was of exotic eastern wonders, it certainly worked.

Once inside the room, I realized that I had leapt out of the kettle and onto the coals. Isabela's brand of allurement is like a lightning bolt to the groin. Blatant and completely unsubtle. This woman was different. She coaxed. She enticed. She was charismatic in a way I have never encountered before. She was pretty enough, with rich auburn hair and fine, regular features, but her real beauty was in her eyes... and in the way that she moved. I was not intimidated by her. Fear requires thought, and I was incapable of that. I wanted her. Now.

Nothing less than a lifetime spent carrying on despite unattainable yet staggering desires enabled me to remember the reason for my visit.

"I'm looking for information about a templar recruit, Keran," I managed after several deep breaths. "I understand he and Wilmod were frequent guests of yours."

"My friends seldom tell me their names," she breathed. "We're usually too busy with other things."

"Are you certain?" I asked. "They were here quite a bit."

"I have quite a loyal following," she said, taking a step closer. My concentration wavered. "Come over here and let me show you why."

She reached out and stroked the underside of my chin. I swallowed hard.

"Can't we hold off on the investigation for a while?" Isabela interrupted. I turned. She had left her spot by the door and was now embracing the bed post, one leg raised seductively around it. Behind her, Carver stood with his jaw swinging free. The look on his face was... disturbing. Even Anders seemed distracted, as if he was not even there.

"Wilmod," I said firmly. "Keran. Now, Idunna."

"Patience," she urged. Her arm slithered around my waist. She pressed her hips to my pelvis and brushed her cheek against mine. Her lips trembled beside my ear. The first cracks appeared. "We'll talk about that in a while. First, tell me who told you about little old me."

I could no longer fight the strain. I surrendered, pulling her tight and pressing myself against her abdomen. My lips sought her neck.

"Viveka," I gasped. "She showed me the guest log."

"Viveka?" she said, stepping away from me. I groaned in protest. "I'll take care of her later. But first, you and I are going to have some fun. You didn't come all this way just to talk."

I was incapable of speech, anyway. I took a step toward her, but she stopped me with a touch to my chest.

"In time, in time," she soothed. "There's still one more thing you must do for me."

I stood breathless, waiting for her command.

"I need you to take your blade," she cajoled, "and draw it swiftly across your throat."

My knife was in my hand. I felt it break the skin. Blood welled in the cut, trickled down my neck, but that did not matter. All that mattered was her voice. I needed her to speak again. I needed...

My sight grew dark. I saw Anders's face in the moonlight, as it was when we watched the stars together on Sundermount. He smiled at me as I kissed his fingertips. That vision faded, replaced by another. Images formed and dissolved in my mind: every time I yearned for him, every time I longed for his touch. Knives were not involved.

And then I felt it: the will that enveloped me, forcing my hand. It loomed over me and surrounded me, crushing me beneath its weight. It was no slender, graceful woman. It was a corpulent monster, swollen with the lust it fed on, that it was continuing to feed on. And I was its prey. My hand fell away from my throat.

"I will not be toyed with!" I rebelled.

"Wait!" she stammered. "How did you...? Oh, shit."

She retreated from me.

"Please, messere, spare me!" she cried. "I never wanted to hurt them! Tahrone made me do it, I swear!"

I looked at her and saw the line of corpses behind her, men she had lured to their deaths. I saw others, those strong enough to resist, if only for a moment. These were not slain but subdued... and then what?

"What did you do to them, Idunna?" I seized her by the neck and pinned her to the wall.

"It was Tahrone's idea!" she wept. "We took them to the Undercity. There's a hidden tunnel in Three Spear Alley. Magical traps bar the way. Please, let me live! I'll do anything that you want!"

I considered it. I had the information I needed. I did not need to take her life. And how long would it be before she began anew? She was frightened, but fear can be overcome. It was only a matter of time. Would her escape from death make her daring? Would she consider it a success and expand the scope of her plan?

"I'm sorry," I said as I plunged my knife into her heart. She was dead before she hit the ground.

"Wha- what happened?" Carver stammered. I sank to the bed, shaking. I had never killed in cold blood before.

"That was blood magic," Anders explained, his voice flat. "We were all under her spell."

"Iain wasn't," Carver said.

"I was," I sighed, "but there was something I wanted more. It gave me the strength to fight back."

"Why, that filthy little bitch!" Isabela sneered, kicking Idunna's corpse. "Even I wouldn't stoop that low."

"And here's Iain," Carver scowled, "saving the day once again."

"It was you, Carver," I shook my head. "You, Isabela, and Anders. She was taxing her powers, trying to control all four of us. If I had come in here alone, I wouldn't have lasted five heartbeats."

"Let's see what she's got," Isabela said cheerfully, stooping to rifle Idunna's purse. I had to smile. And then the full weight of my actions sank in.

"Er... what do we do with the body?"

"Oh, that's easy!" Isabela chuckled, taking a long enough break from her looting to wave dismissively in my direction. "She panicked when you questioned her about the murders she committed. We all saw her pull a knife on you. You wrestled it from her grasp, but she pursued you. You were trying to back away when she threw herself at you, impaling herself on her own blade."

"Would that actually work?" I was skeptical.

"Sure! You've got three witnesses who saw it all. Besides, if I know my women – and I do – Viveka's been itching to shank her for months."

It went as Isabela predicted. Viveka even saw fit to corroborate our story. She would not perjure herself enough to say that she saw what transpired, but she did claim that she heard Idunna threaten me and then what sounded like a struggle. Madam Lusine never even called the guard.

Fenris was waiting for us in the lounge. He said he had been detained, but declined to elaborate. Neither Isabela nor Carver were eager to go to the Undercity with us, so Fenris's reappearance was most welcome. To me, at any rate. When we reached the Dwarven Merchants' Guild, Varric proved less than enthusiastic about descending into Darktown, but he agreed to go, if only to prevent us from finding every snare down there.

His concerns were valid ones. The magical traps Idunna spoke of turned out to have mundane triggers, after all, and we needed his skill to get past them. We encountered shades, animated corpses, and a few other minor demons, but nothing of note until we reached the last room.

An eerie glow illuminated the far end of the room. A naked young man hung suspended mid-air, curled in on himself and surrounded by a cocoon of white light. I approached.

As I drew near, a group of veiled figures emerged from the shadows. The leader's face was a grotesque mask of paint and tattoos.

"Wonderful!" she welcomed us. "More vessels for our experiments!"

"Is that Keran?" I gestured to the levitating man.

"Perhaps the demons will find one of you suitable," she continued as if I had not spoken.

"Why is it always demons?" Anders sighed. "You people really should learn to say no."

"Why would I want to do that?" she retorted. "I am not some pathetic, whimpering fool. I sought them out!"

"Why do you need the recruits?" I asked.

"Open your mind!" she entreated me. "Demons can inhabit much more than corpses or mages. With assistance, they can control any noble, any templar... any uninvited intruder."

"You do realize I've defeated everything you've thrown in my path, I hope."

"Good, good!" she seemed pleased. "The demons like spirit! Just think of the chaos we can cause! How many templar abominations will it take to drive the Knight-Commander mad?"

"Just tell me where Keran is," I said.

"So many vessels are unsuitable," she sighed. "But their corpses can still feed the compost heap, so it isn't a total loss."

"You don't have to be a slave to the demons!" I pleaded with her. "You can fight them!"

"Why would I want to do that?" she laughed. "Years ago, our people ruled an empire. Now, we're nothing but slaves for the templars. Why should we not use every means at our disposal to reclaim our own? We should be ruling them! They should be cowering under our heels!"

"You leave me no choice," I sighed. I raised my staff and focused my will.

"Kill the vessels only if you must!" she cried.

The battle was short, but it was intense. I have rarely been forced to fight another mage, and I did not relish the experience. Nor did the fighting end when the last mage lay dead. Demons rose from their corpses and we had to slay them, too. We won in the end, of course. I would not be writing, otherwise.

With the battle over, I approached the inanimate young man. I was just wondering whether he was dead or alive, and how to dispel the field that surrounded him when the light faded and he crashed to the ground. He got up, groaning. It could only be Keran. His resemblance to Macha was uncanny.

"The cage is opened," he said. "Is it over?"

"It is over," I said, though I looked at Anders for confirmation, after the boy's cryptic greeting. "Keran?"

"That is my name," he said, blinking in the dim light.

"But is it only Keran?" Varric mused. "He could have a rather nasty boarder."

"Is there any way to tell?" I asked Anders.

Without warning, a bolt of energy shot out of Anders's hand and passed through Keran. He staggered and fell to his knees, but gave no other sign of distress.

"It's just Keran," Anders said confidently. "If there were a demon in there, it would have defended itself. Keran's clean."

"Praise the Maker!" said Keran fervently. "I have to go back, tell them what happened. My sister..."

"Your sister is fine," I reassured him. "She sent us here to look for you. You should go to her, let her know that you're alright."

"You won't tell the templars will you?" he asked. "I'll have to face them, I know, but I want to see my sister first."

"I won't tell," I promised. "You've been through enough."

"Thank you," Keran said. He glanced toward the door, then down at his own nakedness.

"Ah, yes," I acknowledged, unbuckling my belt. Keran and I were of a size, both short and sturdily built. I have grown slimmer in recent months due to stress and digestive issues, but the tunic I wore was an old one, from my days on the farm. It would fit Keran well enough. He accepted it with gratitude. He was still barefoot and bare-legged below the knee, but I was down to my last pair of boots.

"Where to now?" Anders asked.

"Home," I said. "I can't go to the Gallows looking like this."

Fenris had been silent since he rejoined us at the Blooming Rose. I tried to draw him out in conversation as we walked through Lowtown, but he resisted, at first.

"Tahrone was mad," I explained gently. "We aren't all like that."

"I didn't see you holding back," he deigned to answer me.

"Should I have let them kill us?" I answered. "I am not a warrior, Fenris. Carver tried teaching me to use his sword when we were younger, but I wound up splitting open my own shin. We all use the skills we were born with."

"I was not born with these markings," Fenris reflected. "They were carved into my flesh against my will."

"I know," I said. "You have learned what you had to learn to survive, as have I. It doesn't matter what tools we use to fight evil and oppression, we just have to keep fighting."

"The end does not always justify the means," Fenris grumbled.

"I never said that it did." I knew that it was hopeless, but I had to try. "There are some things I won't do."

"Are there?" he asked. "If you were offered an end to all templars if only you cast a single blood ritual, would you do it?"

"No," I said firmly. "There is always another way."

"Bah, these arguments are unending. Do you intend to inform the Knight-Captain today or will you wait for the morning?"

"It's getting late," I sighed. "The Gallows gate closes at dark."

"Then I will see you mid-morning," Fenris said. "Outside the Hanged Man."

I waved farewell to him at the Hightown causeway, then to Varric as we neared the tavern. I was still thinking of Idunna and her death by my hand. I was in no mood for card playing. Not tonight.

Anders walked with me back to Gamlen's and we sat on the steps leading up to his house. The neighbors were indulging in merriment of some kind. Happy sounds floated across the courtyard. I marveled that they could be celebrating when my mood was so dark.

"You're quiet tonight," Anders observed, leaning back to look at the non-existent stars.

"It's Idunna," I admitted. "I know that she had to die, but I wish I didn't have to kill her."

"I'm glad you were strong when you needed to be," he said comfortingly.

"Why did it have to be blood magic?" I asked. "Why couldn't she have just had a boot fetish, or a fondness for pretty young boys or something?"

"It's Kirkwall," Anders sighed. "The city was built with the blood of a million slaves. Their suffering weakened the Veil. And, through pride or stupidity, someone decided that the Gallows would be the ideal place to house one of the biggest Circles in Thedas. The daily torture and degradation of hundreds of mages weakens it further."

"You blame the Veil for Kirkwall's abundance of blood magic?"

"It is one reason," he said. "Not the only reason, but it is one of them."

"How did you find out about that?"

"It's in those scrolls I was trying to get you to read the other day."

"Ah. Will you come in? It smells like Mother is making chowder."

Anders accepted, of course, and ate with an appetite that pleased Mother greatly. After dinner, we locked ourselves in the bedroom and Anders tried again to teach me better control over my spells. This was not as exciting as it sounds.

As the evening wore on, I found myself thinking of Keran, and I wondered if he would bring his pretty sister with him to the Gallows in the morning. With as close as they were, it would only be natural for her to wish him farewell before he resumed his interrupted training. If I went early enough, I might even see her again. The thought of a second meeting proved disastrous to my concentration. My spells flared or sputtered unpredictably and Anders grew more and more annoyed.

"What is it, Iain," he asked me.

"Nothing," I said hastily. "My form's just a bit off tonight."

"You don't say!" he groaned, massaging his bruised arm. I intended to use a weakened Stone Fist to knock a feather off his palm, but hit him in the forearm a lot harder than I intended. "You're worried about tomorrow, aren't you?"

"Yes," I admitted.

"Don't worry," he reassured me, "you'll be fine. After the favor you did for them, Cullen would have to be a fool to take you."

I blinked. Anders thought I was anxious about the templars! Well, it would do no harm for him to keep thinking that.

"Do you mind if I come by the clinic before I go meet the others?" I asked. "I want to make a good impression, and I'll wake everyone here if I start a bath that early."

"You're always welcome," he smiled. Would he still be smiling when he found out the truth? And would I be happier if he was or if he was not?


	24. Chapter 24: Macha

_BioWare owns everyone but Iain. I just hold up the ladder while they fix the roof._

_Chapter Note: No, this isn't the pairing we're waiting for, but there's still a ways to go before Act 2. Also, I really, really need to stop writing 5K-word chapters. Too long is too long._

_Rating Note: IMPORTANT - Unless plans change, this fanfic will be permanently moving to a MATURE rating soon. This will probably be the last TEEN-rated chapter. If you enjoy reading _Kindred Spirits_ and would prefer that it remain (relatively) smut-free, please say so. Likewise, if you enjoy mature content, your "go for it" will reassure me that I am not losing _all_ my readers. Not saying that _all_ future chapters will offer sex-n-violence, but I don't want somebody to stumble across something they don't expect to see._

* * *

><p>9:31 Dragon, 24 Guardian; The Hanged Man, Lowtown<p>

It was not yet daybreak when I arrived at Anders's clinic, but he was already awake. He said that his sleep had been troubled, but that it was nothing for me to worry about.

He read the ancient scrolls to me as I bathed, shaved, and dressed, determined that I should hear as much as he knew about Kirkwall's long, bloody history. It was a strange feeling, having him share in my morning routine, but I decided that I liked it. Was that what life was like in the Circles? Did friends talk to each other while they prepared for the day? How different it was from my family, where we finished as quickly as we could and never looked at each other for fear of seeing someone do something biological. Then again, Circle mages were uninhibited because they were watched all the time, anyway. Maybe reserve was not so bad.

"You're dressed well today," Anders observed as I did up the last buckle of my very best tunic. "I didn't know those boots _could_ be polished."

"It wasn't easy," I admitted, praying that the conversation would end there.

"Are you trying to impress someone?"

"My wardrobe is limited."

"Iain, you bathed _yesterday_. In the time I have known you, you have never bathed two days in a row."

"Maybe I should do it more often, hmm?"

"If you stole Carver's scent bottle..." he opened my backpack and rooted around inside, emerging with the vial in question. "Iain. It will never work. He's the knight-captain! And there's a world of difference between refraining from arresting someone and pledging eternal love."

"It isn't Cullen," I said surlily.

"The boy?" Anders turned away from me and started pacing the clinic. "Iain, think of what he's been through! And he's barely old enough to shave. No offense."

"I'd never looked at a man in my life, before I met you. Alright, that was because I lived in Lothering, and if you'd seen Old Barlin, your loins wouldn't have been stirring, either, but that isn't the point."

"So, it's a woman, then. Or a girl. The sister? Misha?"

"Macha," I corrected him, then winced at my own stupidity.

"Macha," he pronounced the name like a curse. "Iain, her brother's a templar, and trying to get back in the Order's good graces. And she's fat."

"She's just short," I said defensively. "And maybe a little plump. Just a little. And you'd be the last person I'd expect to say that. Whatever happened to 'You fall in love with a whole person, not just a body'?"

"If she were anyone else, I'd give you my blessing," Anders retorted. "But Andraste's knickers, her brother's a templar!"

I walked over to him and stopped his pacing by the simple expedient of seizing his arms. I strained upward to bring my face as close as I could to his.

"Kiss me, Anders."

"I can't," he said miserably.

"I know," I said gently. "Please, let me find someone who can."

"Just don't let her come between us," he sighed.

"Never," I promised. "Besides, she hasn't even agreed to see me. It will probably come to nothing."

"You rescued her brother. She'll at least let you walk her home."

He held my hair back while I secured it with a leather thong, then held the door open so we could leave.

"Don't fall too hard for her, Iain," he said. "She'll never be like you. She can't understand."

"Maybe, but I need to find out."

Varric and Fenris were waiting for us in front of the Hanged Man. Varric said that Merrill's repairs were more involved than they anticipated, and that Carver was in the alienage helping her. Isabela, of course, would never willingly wake up this early.

Knight-Captain Cullen stood in his usual spot. My heart lurched in my chest when I saw who was with him. Macha was there, embracing her brother in leave-taking.

"I see that Keran has found you," I greeted the knight-captain.

"And he told quite a tale of your heroics," he acknowledged. "Blood mages infiltrating our ranks?"

"They were forcing demons to inhabit some of your recruits," I said reluctantly.

"Maker's breath," Cullen swore.

Macha drew away from Keran, looking at him with suspicion.

"De- demons, you say?" she gasped.

"I didn't want to tell you, Macha," Keran said. "The mages see us as playthings, tools to use and then cast aside. Nothing but the destruction of the Chantry and all that we stand for will satisfy them."

I was reluctant to expose my more controversial views in front of Macha, but I could not allow Keran to disparage the people who saved him.

"Mages have been systematically abused by the templars for a thousand years," I said. "Do not blame all if a few rebel."

"How can you say that after what you have seen?" Cullen asked me. "Mages cannot be treated like people. _They are not like you and me_."

I heard the warning in his tone, but I could not back down.

"That's a little severe, don't you think?" Macha said, glancing worriedly at me.

"Yet not untrue," Fenris declared defiantly.

"They are weapons," Cullen said, his gaze locked on mine. "They have the power to bring down the city."

"They are people, Knight-Captain," I said. "They are humans and elves, _just like the rest of us_."

"Many might go their whole lives without discovering otherwise," Cullen insisted. "Yet if one in ten fell to the lure of blood magic, they could destroy the world."

"Or you could refrain from driving them to desperation," I countered. Cullen ignored me.

"For now, Keran," he rendered his judgment, "I must strip you of your commission immediately. Unless it is proven that you are free from demons, you pose too great a threat to the others."

"No!" Macha cried. "You can't do that! Keran is fine!"

"He is not to blame," Fenris said coldly, "but that will be little comfort to his victims if your guess is wrong."

"Please, Knight-Captain," Keran pleaded. "I've been training for years. I never took anything they offered. Please, ser, without this commission, my sister will be out on the street."

"He is not possessed," I told Cullen. "We... conducted tests and found him to be free of demonic influence. There is no reason to remove him from the Order."

Cullen's eyes narrowed suspicously.

"I hesitate to ask what methods could be so infallible," he said, his eyes daring me to betray myself. "Still, the Order owes you a debt, serah. Your help with the blood mages was invaluable. I will grant your request."

Cullen's raised hand halted Macha's elation.

"Though not unconditionally," he said. "Keran will remain in the Order but he will be observed. If, after ten years time, he has shown no sign of demonic possession, he will become eligible for full knighthood."

"Thank you, Serah Hawke," Macha said. "For your rescue and for your kindness on my brother's behalf. But with his pay as a recruit, I cannot reward you as you deserve."

I started to protest that pay was unnecessary, but Cullen stopped me.

"I guaranteed his reward," he said. "I will ensure that he is paid."

He gestured another templar forward. For a moment, I feared that my reward would arrive in the form of shackles, but the man presented me with a purse instead. It was quite heavy.

"You have done the Order a great service, Serah Hawke," Cullen said. "It will not be forgotten."

He nodded farewell and with drew. Macha embraced her brother again and then curtsied to me before turning away.

She was leaving. I ran after her, leaving Anders to make my excuses to the others.

"Can – can I walk you home?" I panted when I caught up with her.

"Er... I can manage," she said, her expression curious. "It isn't far."

"Maybe we can take the long way, then?" I blurted, to my horror. "We've barely said two words to each other."

"It's a public street," she shrugged. She was not falling into my arms, but she was not calling the guard, either.

"You're quite close to your brother?" I grasped for something to talk about. I was so worried about actually speaking to her that I neglected to plan what I would say. I was feeling the folly of that now.

"It was just the two of us," she said slowly. "And father. But yes, we were always close."

"I have a brother, too," I said, once more astonishing myself with my own inanity. "He isn't here today, but he was there the first time we met. Maybe you remember him?"

"No, I can't say that I do," she replied cooly. "I was a bit worried about Keran, at the time."

"It's hard, when you don't know what's happening to people you care about." At last, I said something I was not ashamed of.

"I'm grateful for all that you did," she said, blushing a little. "I really do wish I had some way to repay you."

"The knight-captain took care of that," I said dismissively. "And I don't want you thinking about it anymore. We're even. Just two people out for a walk."

"I don't usually walk out with strangers, _Serah Hawke_," she said.

"Where are my manners?" I groaned. I wished I had brought Varric along to help me. He always makes me seem so much more suave than I really am. "My name is Iain. I'm going about this all wrong, but I don't usually walk out with ladies, either."

"I'm starting to see that now," she said with what I hoped were the first signs of an amused smile. "I expected you to be a little more..."

"Just human, I'm afraid. And very bad at this."

"I'm just human, too. I won't bite your head off."

"It would be a lot easier if you did. I'm used to people trying to kill me. It saves having to talk to them, for one thing. But then, I wouldn't have the honor of escorting you home, which I'm hoping will become a lot more pleasant for both of us once I'm done making a fool of myself. Where are we going, anyway?"

"I live in Lowtown," she admitted, blushing and looking away. "Not quite the lady you thought I was."

"I live in Lowtown, too," I shrugged. "So we're still even. Have you lived in Kirkwall all your life?"

"Yes, you?"

"We came here to escape the Blight."

"You and your brother?"

"And our mother."

"You were lucky to get in. They stopped admitting refugees early on."

"We found that out soon enough. Our uncle Gamlen took us in."

"Your uncle is Gamlen Amell?" she asked, her voice quavering on the edge of laughter.

"Yes, why? Do you know him?"

"We're neighbors! Your uncle and my father don't get along, I'm afraid."

"Oh, dear. Still, that's no reason for you and I to quarrel, is it?"

"No, but you'll have to forgive me if I don't introduce you to my father right away."

"It isn't a very long walk to Lowtown," I ventured. "Can I buy you breakfast?"

"But we just met!" she protested. "Or do you mean literally?"

"Of course. Do people eat breakfast at some other time, here in Kirkwall?"

"No, it's just... never mind. You haven't had many lady friends, have you?"

"None at all," I admitted reluctantly.

"Did you grow up in the Chantry?" she asked sympathetically.

"No, I grew up on a farm, but my situation was not exactly typical."

"I guess your people would do things a bit differently."

"You might say that." It probably never occurred to her that apostates have to be more selective when deciding whom to trust. Bless her.

"And I'm a bit shy," she said, looking demurely away. "And Father... watches out for me. I should probably get home soon. He gets upset when I'm gone too long."

"Can I see you again?"

"Father is not fond of company," she began inauspiciously. "But I go to the Chantry every afternoon. Perhaps we could meet there?"

"I'd like that," I said. I was smiling, but feelings were far different inside. Meeting in the Chantry seemed so cold. And who goes there, anyway? Zealots? But Macha did not seem the type. She was a little unfriendly toward me for the first few moments, but she did warm up later, and even her initial hesitation appeared to be shyness rather than the distrust one might expect toward a mage. These things take time.

She ran on ahead, but I fell back. I would have walked with her the rest of the way at any pace, but her last words were clearly a farewell, at least until this afternoon. The others soon caught up with me. As we were all walking in the same direction anyway, they had merely allowed us a brief head start.

"Well, that was awkward," Anders observed.

"I wouldn't go if I were you," Varric joked. "She didn't even give you a goodbye kiss."

"And I thought it was bad when I couldn't bathe without an audience," I sighed.

"When did this occur?" Fenris asked with interest.

"For future reference," Anders said, "when one person asks to buy another breakfast, it's usually a request to spend the night together."

"Oh, dear," I groaned. "No wonder she asked if I meant it literally."

"I never thought I'd say this," Varric shook his head, "but Junior was right. We really do need to get you laid."

"Alright," I sighed, "I never thought I'd say this myself, but I need help. I'm going to meet her this afternoon, and I need you three to teach me what to say so that I don't wind up making a fool of myself again. And Isabela. She'd help, wouldn't she?"

"What do you think I could teach you?" Fenris asked. "My experience is hardly applicable here."

"It's still better than mine," I said, "which is completely nonexistent."

"Buy us some breakfast and we'll talk," Varric said. "And in the literal sense, if you please. You're just not my type."

Half an hour later, we were sitting in Varric's suite amid heaping platters of food. Isabela was only too eager to assist with my instruction, but her enthusiasm waned somewhat when she discovered that the objective was to teach me how to talk to a woman, not how to please one in bed.

"Women are no different than men," she told me. "Treat them like they're people and be yourself and you'll be fine."

"This is Hawke we're talking about," said Varric.

"So? I'd bed him."

"You'd bed anybody," Anders shrugged.

"Is there a problem with that?" Isabela asked with a sensually raised eyebrow.

"No," Anders said. "I just thought I'd point that out."

"Women like gifts," Fenris said. "Candy, flowers, and the like. Excess conversation is rarely necessary, though flattery often helps."

"I don't know," Varric mused. "Flattery might be a bit advanced for Hawke. Spread it too thick too soon and she'll think you're insincere."

"But what if I mean it?" I wondered.

"Then you should definitely not say it," Isabela advised. "Best way I know of to scare a woman off is to tell her she's beautiful before she's asked you to bed her."

"But she is!" I protested.

"You need to act like you've seen it all before," Isabela sighed at my ineptitude. "They want a man who's desired by all and conquered by none. They want to be the one to rein in the wild stallion. Some women, anyway. I just appreciate a hard ride."

"I don't think I can do that," I admitted. "The acting part."

"Just be yourself, Iain," Anders urged. "Sincerity is a powerful aphrodisiac."

"That's true," Isabela concurred. "If she doesn't want you as you are, you don't want her."

"But you just said I should act like I'm admired by all and conquered by none!"

"That's what you do if you want her to bed you," Isabela explained. "If you want a relationship, you're better off being honest."

"Is it always this complicated?" I asked Varric.

"Why do you think I romance a crossbow?" Varric laughed.

"Does Bianca have a sister?" I joked.

"Nope. She's one of a kind."

"So what do we talk about?" I asked.

"Favorite sexual position is a good ice-breaker," Isabela suggested. Everyone ignored her, for which I was thankful.

"You should probably try to find out how she feels about magic," Anders said.

"How did I know that was coming?" Fenris groaned.

"I'm not recruiting her for the cause," Anders retorted. "This is very important to Iain. He can't change what he is any more than you or I can. If she has no sympathy for mages, it's best that he finds out soon, before he becomes emotionally involved. Or before she finds out about his special talents."

"She already knows," I assured him. "Keran would have told her."

"Would he?" Anders wondered. "That would have been an odd conversation. 'By the way, I was rescued by an apostate. You should try him sometime.'"

"No, she knows. When we were talking about the breakfast thing, she said that she should have expected mages to do things differently. And if we're meeting in the Chantry, I'd prefer to avoid talking about anything that might land me in the Gallows."

"True," Anders conceded.

"But I still don't know what to talk about with her," I sighed.

"You'll think of something," Anders reassured me.

Isabela laughed. "And if you don't, you can always lose her in the Chantry and come back here and get drunk with us."

"I'll keep that in mind," I said wryly. "So that's it, just 'Go in and act natural'?"

"Pretty much," Varric said.

"More or less," Fenris agreed.

"Works for me," Isabela shrugged.

"It's the best way," said Anders.

"Twenty silver says he's still a virgin this time next week," Isabela muttered to Varric. He shook his head.

Two hours later, I climbed the causeway to Hightown alone. The trip had never seemed so long. I worried that she might have decided that I was not coming and left, or that she might have told me to go there while she planned on going somewhere else. I need not have worried. I found her praying near the altar rail. I knelt down beside her.

"I was just saying a prayer for Keran," she whispered. "He told me so little about what happened. Do you really think he's safe?"

"I do," I reassured her. "My friend confirmed it."

"Your friend, the... blond man," she said, choosing her words carefully. "Keran said he has some unusual... talents."

"Yes, he does," I agreed.

"Are all of your friends so... ?"

"No, he's the only one," I replied. How many spirit-possessed people could I possibly know? "He's a gentle, well-meaning person, though. If it weren't for his unique perspective, I would not have been able to prove to the knight-captain that Keran isn't possessed."

"I'm grateful for his help, but, well... he frightens me. Just think of what he might do, and you'd never even know it!"

"We all have power, Macha," I said quietly. "Your brother holds the lives of hundreds of people in his hands. Should they fear him?"

"Keran has a responsibility to those he protects. He would never hurt them without need."

"And that's the important thing. The Maker gives us each the ability to make the world a better place, in our small ways. It is up to us to ensure that we use our gifts wisely and compassionately."

"You believe those... gifts... come from the Maker?"

"The Maker made us who we are."

"That's true. I'm sorry for peppering you with questions. You came to pray."

"I came to invite you to walk the gardens with me," I smiled. "It's far too fine a day to spend it indoors."

"It is nice outside, isn't it?" she smiled back.

We left the Chantry and made our way toward the Hightown Estates. They were not gardens, exactly, but the people who lived there bedecked the front of their homes with flowers of every hue. The fragrance was intoxicating.

"It's much warmer here than it is in Ferelden," I observed. "At home, the trees would just be starting to green up. You could probably still find snow in some of the hollows."

"I've never seen snow," she said. "I've heard that it snows further up Sundermount, but we never see it in Kirkwall."

"No, we don't. At least the breeze off the Waking Sea keeps things cooler in summer, though. I used to hate making hay in the heat."

"You said you were a farmer. What do you do now?"

"This and that," I said as casually as I could. "People hire me to make their problems go away."

"Like finding my brother?"

"Like finding your brother. I hope you don't think me mercenary."

"You have to live."

"What of your family?"

"My father used to work in the mines, but an injury..."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring up a painful topic."

"Now you understand why we were so anxious about Keran's commission."

"I do understand. Why do we wind up speaking of such weighty things? There must be something you do just for the enjoyment of it."

"I live a very sheltered life."

"You sound like me, before I came to Kirkwall."

We walked in silence for a few moments. Macha looked up at the mansions lining the street.

"Sometimes, I come here just to look at the houses. I look and I wonder who lives in them, and what their lives must be like."

"Probably not much different from yours or mine."

"You don't really believe that! Think of how grand it must be, with parties every night, and music and dancing, and eating ices whenever they want."

"You can have ices now," I smiled.

"I could never afford it!"

"Let me treat you. Please. It isn't music or dancing, but it's a start."

"I couldn't. It wouldn't be right."

"Nonsense! You deserve nice things, don't you? Besides, it's only a little treat."

"Well, alright, but only if you're getting one for yourself."

"I've been wanting to try one for months," I lied. I had reservations about how my system would react to something so cold, but I thought that if I ate it slowly and let it melt a bit, I would probably be alright. So, we walked to the Hightown Market and I bought two ices from a confectioner there. Hers was deep strawberry, but mine was bright green, flavored with sweet apple wine. We ate them on the stairs to the Merchant's Guild and laughed at the faces we made as the cold hit our brains.

"They were quite good," I said as I returned the bowls and spoons. "No wonder rich people like them so much."

"I think there was alcohol in mine," Macha giggled.

"Mine too," I said, grinning foolishly at the thought of getting drunk off of something that seemed so innocuous. "Your lips are pink, by the way."

"Oh, no! But yours are worse. You had to get the green one."

"I wonder what yours tasted like," I mused. She was standing quite close to me, near enough to touch. I took her chin in my hand and tilted her face up to mine. She closed her eyes... and I kissed her.

It was over almost as soon as it began. Our lips parted and I was left with nothing but the fleeting impression of softness... and the knowledge that I had kissed a woman. I shivered, and it had nothing to do with the cold.

"Iain..." she breathed.

"I'm sorry!" I stammered. "I know I shouldn't have been so forward. It was too soon."

"Er... no," she hesitated. "I didn't get much of a taste."

Our kiss was much deeper, this time. Her tongue explored my lips, tasting the sweetness left behind by the wine. I did the same, and raised my arms to embrace her. This was too much, evidently. She stepped away from me. Her bosom heaved with what I hoped was the passion that I felt, too.

"Macha..."

"I- I should go. Father will be waiting for his dinner."

"When will I see you again?"

"I go to the Chantry every day," she said. "Father usually goes out in the evenings, but it's dangerous to count on it. Will you come tomorrow?"

"Depend on it," I said firmly. "Will you allow me to walk you home? I won't go up to your house with you, but I would feel better if I saw you safely to your door. The streets are better than they were, but there are still thieves and cut-purses about."

She nodded and we walked down the Lowtown causeway. She said nothing, but my head and my heart were too full for words. She kissed me on the cheek as we entered Quarry Yard. I remained behind, but I watched her climb the steps to her house. The door opened and she went in. I remained where I stood for a moment, listening for the sounds of an angry father, but none came. Still stunned, I went back to the Hanged Man. Carver and Merrill had joined the others in Varric's suite. They all stared at me as I entered.

"And?" Isabela prompted.

"A gentleman doesn't tell," I said.

"Bullshit!" she retorted. "I want details!"

"Maybe I should have taken that bet," Varric laughed.

"Did you come here to brag?" Anders snapped.

"I came here to eat," I said. "I could really do with some food."

I endured much teasing, throughout the course of the evening, both behind my back and in front of my face. Isabela surreptitiously started a betting pool about how long it would take me to bed Macha. That angered me somewhat, but I could not remain cross with Isabela for being herself. I would not have found out about it at all, had I not walked in on Isabela explaining to Merrill which questions one might ask to tell if I was lying about my status. Merrill did not understand what all the fuss was about, and I found myself agreeing with her.

Anders remained quiet and aloof throughout the evening. Overwhelmed as I was, I found myself gravitating toward him to escape the noise and distasteful speculation. He was not bitter, exactly, but he did seem subdued. I could empathize with him. He was accustomed to being the only object of my desire. Everyone needs to feel wanted, I remembered, and Anders probably felt that his sole admirer had defected to another. Unfortunately, I could say nothing to lessen his regret... though I could reassure him of his place in my affections.

"Your friendship has meant the world to me," I said softly. He smiled sadly but made no other answer. "I don't want to lose it now."

"You won't," he said, though he did not make eye contact. "You seem happy."

Across the room, Carver made a rude, suggestive gesture, thrusting his hips toward a large, invisible object he grasped between wide-spread hands. Isabela's laughter and the phrase "No worse than Teela" wafted across to us.

"I'd be happier if they didn't make a joke of it."

"Would it be more satisfying for you if they congratulated you for managing one romantic interview without getting slapped?"

"I think I just was," I winced.

"Things will settle down once the novelty wears off," he said sagely. "Until then, you can probably expect more of the same."

"But not from you?"

"Not from me."


	25. Chapter 25: Nine Tenths of the Universe

_BioWare owns everyone but Iain. I just do their laundry and try not to think about what I find in their pockets._

_Rating Note: The overall rating for this story has been changed to MATURE. This will enable me to just write and stop worrying about accidentally exceeding the bounds of acceptable teen content. So from here on out, consider yourself warned. This chapter is especially smutty._

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><p>9:31 Dragon, 13 Drakonis; Gamlen's house, Lowtown<p>

Can it really be only a month and a half since I was freed from indentured servitude? And three weeks since the last time I wrote in my journal. It seems so much longer than that. So much has happened! Macha has really become a part of my life... and I have never been more confused.

Since Macha and I began seeing each other, I have deliberately stayed close to home. I go to the clinic every morning to help Anders and reassure him that our friendship is as important to me now as it has always been. He is quieter these days, and less open with his affection, but I probably should have expected this. I remember how heartbroken I was when I finally realized that Anders would never feel more than friendship for me. Of course it would be hard for him to accept that I had stopped pining and moved on. Nor can I blame him for that petty selfishness. In his place, I would feel the same.

In the evenings, we prowl the streets looking to instruct the lawless, or send them to the Maker's side if worldly correction proves impossible. I hoped to encounter the thugs who attacked me, but with no recollection of what they looked like, I might never know if we succeeded. Once we purged the last of the gangs from Hightown, we repeated the process in the Docks. The gangs were less organized there, but we still beat them down one by one. We do nothing now but congregate at the Hanged Man and play cards. I feel guilty about delaying the inevitable, but I am not quite ready to plan a long journey. Not yet.

Apart from the afternoon we spent tracking down a shipment of "spices" for Isabela's friend Martin (Thanks, Isabela, I really needed that on my conscience. Still, a promise is a promise, and if folks could not get their poison from him, they would just get it somewhere else.), I spend my afternoons with Macha. Contrary to Isabela's revised predictions, she was no easy conquest. After our heady first afternoon together, it was three days before she let me touch her again, and then, it was just holding hands or chaste kisses that left me frustrated. Not that I minded, not really. Had she surrendered more readily, I would not have believed in the sincerity of her regard.

This afternoon, however, I went to the Chantry with bad news. I have obligations I can delay no longer, and one of them is a visit to the Bone Pit, a mine outside Kirkwall. The owner, an Orlesian named Hubert, hired me weeks ago to look into the disappearance of some miners. I postponed it as long as I could, but the trouble at the mines left the other workers too frightened to return. Time is money, I know, and without income for their work, the remaining workers are slowly starving in their homes. The trip would take me out of Kirkwall for two or three days, at least.

I found Macha on the Chantry steps.

"You look troubled," she said after a timid hello kiss.

"I'm going to have to go away for a few days," I said. "Work takes me out of Kirkwall, sometimes."

"You aren't leaving me, are you?" she asked, biting her lower lip.

"No, not at all," I assured her. "Let's go up to the gardens and I'll tell you about it."

We sat beside a flowerbed on a low wall and I took her hands.

"This is kind of difficult," I said, "and I'm not sure how I should proceed."

"Is there someone else?" she asked anxiously.

"No, nothing like that! It's just that you might disapprove of my employer. You said your father used to work in the mines, so you might have heard of him."

"Oh, that horrible man! He said that Father was drunk and that the accident was all his fault. Cut Father off without a silver."

"I'm sorry your family had to go through that," I sighed. "It seems that Hubert's become greedier with age. He hires none but Fereldans now. They're the only ones who'll work for what he's paying."

"And you're going to work in the mines?" she gasped. "Please tell me you aren't that desperate!"

"I am going to work there, but not in the way that you think. Some of his miners have disappeared and he wants me to find out what happened to them."

"It sounds awfully dangerous," she said, squeezing my hand.

"I'll be careful, I promise," I said.

"Are you going alone?"

"No, my brother is coming with us, and Varric and Anders, of course."

"I don't know any of these people."

"That's because you never want to go to the Hanged Man with me. I'd like you to get to know my friends."

"Some of Father's friends go there. If he finds out, it would make him angry."

"Well, if the Deep Roads expedition works out, I'll have a house of my own. You'll have no excuse not to meet them then."

"You keep talking about that. What is this expedition, exactly?"

"Varric's brother is organizing an expedition to the Deep Roads. I'm trying to buy into the venture. I'll be gone for a few weeks, but we'll be well-equipped and well-provisioned."

"Is your life always so dangerous?"

"Don't worry, Macha. I've survived worse. And when I do come back, I'll be rich."

"And you'll be careful?"

"Always."

"Would you... would you come back to the house with me? I want to introduce you to Father. It might still be early enough."

"Early enough for what?"

"Just... early enough. Unless you don't want to meet him, of course."

"No, I do. I've been looking forward to it."

That was a lie. The thought of meeting her sire was enough to make my guts quake, but it had to be done.

When we reached her house, I found out exactly what she meant by "early enough."

"Who's this runty blighter?" the old man slurred. He reached for the bottle in front of him and poured another measure of liquor into his cup.

"This is Iain, Father," Macha all but sobbed. "The one who saved Keran."

"You'll get no thanks from me, boy," he growled, tossing back his drink. "Botched the job proper, you did. If I had my legs, I'd have shown those bastards. Bet you told them to take his commission."

"We went through this before, Father!" she soothed. "He did all that he could."

"Bullshit, girl! Bullshit!" he roared. "Bah, I've had enough of your coddling. I'm going out. Make sure he's gone by the time I get back."

He lurched to his feet and staggered sideways before he caught his balance. Macha reached out to steady him, but he batted her away, muttering about bad knees and crooked carpets tripping him up. He walked out the door with the slow, deliberate gait of one who is pretending to be more sober than he is.

Macha sat down in the chair he abandoned and covered her face with her hands. I crouched down beside her.

"I'm sorry you had to see that," she wept. "He's been so... so angry..."

I put my arm around her shoulders and turned her face to my chest.

"There, there," I said softly, "it wasn't so bad."

"You saw what he's like!" she wailed, crying harder.

"It isn't your fault. It isn't his, either. People he cares about were treated unfairly and there's nothing he can do about it. He feels helpless. It's hard for a strong man like your father to accept that."

"He _was_ strong, before the accident. He drank once in a while, yes, but nothing like now."

"Shh, shh, I know. He does the best that he can, and so must you. I see how you look after him. He's lucky to have such a devoted daughter."

"Do you really mean that?" she sniffed.

"I do. You're gentle and kind, and you're loyal. He's – oh!"

I was crouching too long. My knee gave out and I faltered, crashing to the floor.

"Oh, Iain, I'm so sorry!" she cried, jumping up and pulling me into the chair. "You should have said you were uncomfortable."

"I didn't have much warning," I lied. "But I can still comfort you here. Come. Sit on my lap and let me hold you for a while. You'll feel better."

"Are you sure?" she asked timidly. I nodded.

I expected her to sit sideways across my legs but she did not. She straddled my hips and sat facing me, her arms around my neck and her dress bunched up around her thighs. I swallowed. It was much easier to hold her this way, and I did, but it was also far too intimate for me to maintain any degree of detachment. She was still crying though, so I put my arms around her and prayed that she would not notice the bulge in my pants.

I continued to hold her and made soothing noises, but she wept on.

"What's wrong, Macha?" I asked.

"I'm worried about the future," she sniffed. "Father is getting older, and I'll have to marry someday, but with a father like that, nobody is ever going to want me."

"I do," I heard myself say. It was completely unplanned. I do have feelings for her, and I intended to confess them before we left for the Deep Roads, but this was too soon. I was not ready.

"You do?" she asked hopefully.

"I do," I said firmly. The words were out. There was no point in denying it now. "I care very much for you, Macha. It would take more than a troubled father to get rid of me."

"Oh, Iain!" She was weeping louder now, but her tears were not bitter. I kissed them away. Her lips sought mine, and there was nothing of sadness in the kiss that she gave me. There was passion, though. Far more than I was ready for. I held back for a moment, but when she started nibbling my throat, I let go of my inhibitions and pulled her tightly against my body. She responded by pressing herself closer still.

After several moments of intense kissing, I grew bolder. I raised my hands to her breasts and stroked her through her gown. Her moans did nothing but encourage me. I began to panic as she drew away from me, thinking that I had gone too far, but she merely unfastened my belt and let it fall to the floor.

"Macha..." I groaned.

"Hush, Iain," she whispered. "We need this."

She rocked back and forth against me, increasing and easing the pressure in a way that made my balls ache for release. My hands fell to her hips and I pulled her against me, letting her feel how completely I was under her power. Her eyes closed and she rode me, sliding up and down the length of me.

"Macha," I gasped, "you have to stop. I can't -"

Her legs closed around me and her whole body shuddered. It was too much. I no longer cared about soiling my breeches. It was too late to prevent it, anyway. I pulled her against me one last time and surrendered.

She kissed me again. I tried to return it, but I was fighting for air. I was wracked by the most delicious ache I have ever experienced. Gradually, it subsided and I was able to breathe normally again. More or less.

"Oh, Macha," I sighed.

"That was..." she began, "... intense."

I nodded, unable to describe what I was feeling.

"Are you... alright?" she asked hesitantly.

"Yes," I said. "Just a little winded. I've never done anything like that before."

"Never?"

"No, never. You've got an inexperienced lover, I'm afraid."

"I'm not much better," she admitted. "I've gone that far before, but no further."

"We'll just have to learn together," I smiled. "When you're ready. However long that will take."

"I don't think I'll keep you waiting that long," her smile turned devilish, then her face fell.

"What's wrong?"

"I don't know how much longer we have," she said. "Today, I mean. Father could come home at any moment."

"Come away with me, Macha," I said. "I don't want to say goodnight quite yet."

"I'd better not," she sighed. "I want to go with you, but I'm afraid of what Father might do if he comes home and finds me gone."

"He won't hurt you, will he?"

"No, he's rude, but not violent. And he isn't usually this bad. Not this early in the day. But you'd better go. Drunk or sober, he won't hurt me, but I'm afraid of what he might do to you if he found you still here."

"Alright, I'll go," I said reluctantly. "I'll come find you the moment I get back."

She kissed me at the door and handed me the belt I had forgotten on the floor. I walked back to my uncle's house a very confused man. Despite what I said to Macha, I knew that my feelings were not as absolute as I declared them to be. I do care about her, and deeply, but there is something missing. Something hard to define. With Anders, there is a sense of spiritual togetherness even if we will never be lovers, but I do not feel that with Macha. Perhaps it has something to do with the magic? I expect too much. Nine tenths of the universe is still very large. Most men are content with a portion half that size.

I paused at the door. A cracked stair tread broke underfoot, causing me to stagger to regain my balance and pulling my clothing tight against my skin. The wetness against my abdomen was pronounced. I looked down and groaned. I dirtied my smallclothes myself, but I did not expect it to seep through to the outside, and it looked as if Macha had been leaking fluid of some kind, as well. I took off the tunic and held it in front of me. If I could reach the relative seclusion of my bedroom, I could change my clothes and Mother need never know that her son had gained some experience at last.

Mother was not at home when I arrived but Carver was.

"Catch!" he called out and tossed a packet of parchment toward me. I caught the letter, but I dropped my tunic in the process.

"Maker's breath, Iain," Carver laughed. "Did you piss yourself?"

"No," I snapped and fled to the bedroom. He followed me. "Get out, Carver. I need to get dressed."

"Little hint, brother," he suggested, still laughing. "Wash that yourself before Mother gets home. Unless you like lectures about the responsibilities of fatherhood, that is."

"Hello!" Mother's voice called from the kitchen. "Iain! Carver! I need help with the groceries!"

"I'll take care of it," Carver chuckled and left the room.

His advice was probably worth taking, but there was no time to do laundry now. I stripped off my clothes and hid them under the mattress. Once I was dressed again, I went out to see if Mother needed any more help.

"I got to the market late today," she said, "so it's dribs and drabs for dinner, I'm afraid."

"We'll probably eat at the tavern tonight," I told her. "We're leaving for the Bone Pit in the morning, so we'll need to make plans tonight."

"Oh, very well... What happened to the clothes you were wearing this morning, Iain?"

At that point, I had a decision to make. I could tell her a little lie and say that I spilled something on them or I could tell her a big one and deny changing my clothes at all.

"This is what I was wearing this morning." I felt extravagant with my falsehood.

"Oh," she said, shaking her head. "Were you going to the tavern right away?"

"I was going to, why?"

"I think I did something to my wrist when I picked up the ham. Would you take a look at it before you go?"

My guilty conscience was just getting started when she held up her arm. Her wrist was slightly swollen, so it seemed that this was not an excuse to speak to me away from Carver.

"Go on, Carver," I said. "I'll be along in a moment."

Mother's wrist was only lightly sprained, but I healed it anyway and then put the groceries away while she told me about who she saw at the market. I was not really interested, but it kept her happy. At last, she gave me leave to go and I dashed to the tavern. I found my friends gathered in Varric's suite while Carver entertained them.

" - walked in smelling like the sheets at the Blooming Rose and with a wet patch right here."

"So, did he or didn't he?" Isabela asked. She had her back to the door.

"He says it's none of your business," I said.

"There's a lot of money riding on this, Hawke," she said. "Who wins if it's true?"

Nobody spoke. Varric pulled out a pocket notebook.

"Looks like Aveline," he said. I groaned.

"So tell us what happened!" Isabela goaded.

"No."

Bickering ensued. It went on for quite some time. I bore it as long as I could.

"This is ridiculous! You're betting on the most personal thing I could possibly do. How do you expect me to respond?"

"You could tell us and get it over with," Varric suggested mildly.

"Alright, I give up. I'm not sure what my status is. There was no nudity involved."

"So, you dry-humped her, then?" Isabela asked.

"Shut up."

"I'll take that as a 'yes'. Which makes it a 'no'."

This time, they debated the exact definition of virginity. I was still wretched, but as they were speaking in hypothetical terms, it bothered me marginally less. In the end, they decided to split the pot between Aveline and whomever claimed the week when my status could no longer be argued.

Varric consulted his notebook again.

"So, the only ones still in the running are Carver and Fenris. And Anders, of course, but at this point, I think the possibility that the whole thing will blow over without Hawke getting lucky is pretty remote."

"You, too?" I asked my cringing friend. "I thought you refused to be party to this?"

"Hawke, I -" he began.

"Don't say it," I interrupted. I stood up and addressed the table. "Anyone going to the Bone Pit tomorrow should be back here by midmorning at the latest. Pack well. We will likely be gone for two or three days."

I was angry when I left. Angry, hurt, and confused. I looked for some thieves to wreak vengeance upon, but I found only silence, even in Darktown. It was there my steps led me, all the way to Anders's picture window. The setting sun reflected red and gold from the waterfall. I froze it with a glance. Shards of ice stung my face.

"Iain?" Anders's soft voice breathed in my ear. He was beside me, and I never sensed him approach. I stepped away. "Don't sulk."

"I'm not sulking," I said petulantly.

"No, I see that," he smiled gently. "I am... happy for you and Macha."

"Is that why you wagered that she would leave me?"

"I should not have done that. A moment of weakness. And that wasn't the bet I made. I thought that _you_ would leave _her_."

"You think I'm that faithless?"

"I think you're that kind. You can never be equals. I thought you would spare her the pain of loving someone who can never fully return her devotion."

"Like you did? You saw how much I suffered."

"It's not quite the same thing, but it's probably close enough. The point is that, despite the pain you felt before, you're happier now. She will be, too, once she gets past the initial heartache."

"And then what? I go back to sniffing your pillow and getting hard every time you say my name?"

"You sniffed my _pillow_? No, you'll find someone who can share all of your life, not just the parts between your thighs."

"She can share my life."

"Can you even cast a spell in front of her?"

"I never tried."

"I don't recommend it. Listen, Iain, I'm not asking you to leave her. I'm asking you to think this through. Can you really be happy when you already feel that something is missing?"

"What? I never told you that!"

"You did. Just now. When I told you that you will never love her as much as she loves you, you compared your relationship with ours. You never said I was wrong."

"You aren't wrong," I sighed. "Something is missing, but unless I stumble across a mage who happens to not be possessed by a Fade spirit, I'm never going to find that person, am I? I'll have to be content with the next best thing."

"That person doesn't have to be a mage," Anders said in that same patient voice. "They just have to be capable of truly understanding everything about you and accepting you as you are. No secrets, no illusions, good and bad alike."

"People like that don't exist."

"Your father found one. Talk to your mother. Tell her your doubts. Ask her if there was ever a time when she did not feel connected to your father heart and soul."

"How can I talk to my mother about something like that? Besides, how would she know if he felt a lack somewhere. Maybe he hid it from her."

"Like you do with Macha? Do you think she doesn't know that something isn't right? Besides, no one who has heard your mother speak of your father would believe that he did not love her absolutely."

"Maybe he knew the electricity thing," I grumbled.

"You don't spend twenty years as a fugitive with someone and give him three children along the way because he's good in bed."

"What would you have me do?"

"Search your heart. If you love her that much, can you really ask her to bind herself to you without knowing everything that you are?"

"Well, I'll have three days to think about it."

"This is true."

"Thanks, by the way. This was the first time I've ever been physically intimate with anyone and you had to ruin it."

He went to stand by the ledge, placing his hands on the sill and staring out into the ravine.

"Maybe I'm wrong," he said. "Maybe you will show her all that you are and all that you will ever be, and maybe she will still love you, magic and all. And then, when you do lie together as lovers, it will be a union of hearts, not just the friction of cloth against skin."

"Was it ever that for you?" I asked.

"I wasted my innocence," he sighed. "I didn't know what it was worth."

I stood beside Anders and put my arm around his waist. Mist from the waterfall clung to his cheeks. I grieved for him, to have to live with so many regrets.

"Your heart is still pure," I said. I doubted whether he could hear me over the sound of the falls. His lips moved, but his words were lost in the rush of water. I wanted to comfort him, kiss him, tell him how much love I still have for him, but I could not. Even if there were no Macha, he would not allow it. I held him tighter and we watched the sun set.

"We should go before it gets dark," he said. He took my hand and led me to the shaft that led to Lowtown.

So I lie alone in my bunk while Wallace plays "pounce on the mouse" with my feet and Peaches hunts rabbits in his sleep. I think about Macha and Anders and the doubts I still have. Am I doing this because I care about Macha or because I do not want to lose her? I do not ask for much. I want only a home of my own and an amiable someone to share it with. But then I think of Anders by the waterfall and how I yearn for him still. Is it unfair to want Macha to love me, knowing that my own heart will always be divided? Then again, is it really so wrong to feel that way? Macha herself said that she had gone just as far with another. Will a piece of her heart always belong to him? Perhaps it is just as well that we cannot see into each others' souls. We all have something to hide.


	26. Chapter 26: The Bone Pit

_BioWare owns everyone but Iain. I just deliver the pizza._

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><p>9:31 Dragon, 14 Drakonis; Bone Pit Ledge, somewhere in the Free Marches<p>

It took less time to get moving than I feared it would. Varric and Anders were just finishing breakfast when Carver and I arrived at the Hanged Man, and with our plans decided, there was no need to wait for any other arrivals. I will have to remember this, next time our adventures take us outside of Kirkwall.

"What's the story behind the Bone Pit?" I asked Varric as we boarded the ferry that would take us to the western side of the harbor.

"It's a quarry," he replied. "It's been there since Kirkwall was held by the Tevinters."

"I thought it was a mine," I said.

"It's both," he shrugged. "The quarry supplies granite; the Bone Pit Mine proper yields different kinds of metals. There's the Drakestone Mines, too, but they've long been abandoned. Mostly, it's a big hole in the ground. I avoid it."

"Any idea what could be causing the disappearances?" I asked.

"They don't like Hubert?" Carver snorted.

"They do like the money, though," I reflected. "Hubert did seem like a weasel, but he's the only one hiring Fereldans. You can put up with a lot if it means that your family gets to eat for one more week."

"You're thinking that something drove them off?" Anders asked.

"Something more substantial than ghost stories."

"I guess we'll find out when we get there," Varric said. "Which will be soon. There's the shore up ahead."

"How far inland are the mines?" I asked.

"Who cares?" Varric snapped. "Just get me off this Maker-forsaken boat!"

I felt sorry for Varric. He hated traveling by water. He spent the entire trip clutching the lantern-post that rose from the middle of the boat while the sweat poured off of him. I could not blame him for being nervous. I cannot swim, either, but unlike humans, dwarves can never really learn to float.

There was a settlement of sorts on this side of the harbor. It was not much, just a line of cranes along a sturdy pier with a few outbuildings to shelter the workers who offloaded the stone- and ore-laden wagons onto barges for transport into the city. Not that there was any traffic here today. The cranes stood idle while the longshoremen diced on the pier, waiting for the cargo that was not going to arrive unless my friends and I (as usual) did something to correct the problem.

"Which way to the Bone Pit?" I asked one of the lounging workers.

"That way," he gestured vaguely up a clearly visible road. I probably should not have asked.

It was a steady climb up the switchback trail, but it was a gradual one. It would need to be, for the wagons. The mines themselves would be at the top, I concluded. Carver needled me about the possibility of getting lost, but as long as we went uphill, I supposed we would be alright.

None of us expected to find looters at the mining camp, though perhaps we should have. With so much valuable ore and tools lying around, it was only natural for idlers to try to claim it. They attacked us, but they were poorly organized and poorly equipped. It did not take us long to drive them off.

Our exploration of the area was unexciting. We found tents, crates, tools, and a barrel of beer that I pushed aside for later. No matter how quickly we found the source of the problem, we would not be going home tonight. The quarry itself was deserted. Whatever was affecting the mines was also putting a halt to excavations.

"How long do we have before dark, do you think?" I asked Anders.

"Six hours, give or take," he replied. "That doesn't need to stop us, though. It will be dark in the mines one way or another."

"I knew I forgot something," I groaned. "Torches."

"You always do everything the hard way," Anders observed. "Take a look around. Do you see anything that isn't flammable? Plus, you can make the end of your staff glow, if you want to."

"I can?"

"Sure, like this." He demonstrated. I tried it and found that I could do it, too.

"Can't you two do anything like normal people?" Carver complained.

"I hate to break up this touching moment of fraternity, but we do have a mine to investigate," Varric reminded us.

"Right," I agreed. "Somebody else should go first, though. I'll just lead us in circles."

"Hear, hear," Carver grunted.

We did not get far into the mines before we hit our first major obstacle.

"These dragons aren't as big as the one the witch turned into," Carver observed as he leapt at the closest of them.

"Just you wait, Junior," Varric chuckled, putting a crossbow bolt through the neck of another. "When I tell this story, they'll be three times taller."

"With tentacles!" I predicted.

"No tentacles," Varric vetoed the suggestion. "Gotta keep it real."

It was a short, satisfying battle. None of us was gravely injured, though I did get too close to Carver at one point and he elbowed me in the jaw.

"Was that what drove the miners off?" I asked.

"Doubt it," Varric said. "They probably would have chewed through a miner or two, but a full camp of miners with pickaxes would have been able to deal with them."

"Guess we'll have to go deeper," I said.

We went deeper. We found more dragons, but with the exception of one or two that were bigger than a full-sized cow, we encountered nothing truly fearsome. We were also climbing upwards again. We seemed to have come full circle and were running out of mine to explore.

"They sure made a lot of fuss over this," I remarked.

"Something doesn't add up," Anders mused. "We've seen plenty of young ones, and a couple of males, but I don't see any females around."

"How can you tell?" Carver laughed. "You don't really get tits on a dragon."

"The females are much, much larger," Anders explained. "If you ever see one, you'll know."

We all jumped at the sound of movement behind us.

"Andraste's tits, I thought I was dreaming!" a hoarse voice exclaimed. A bedraggled-looking man stepped into the light. Other than being a bit wan and gaunt, he seemed unhurt. "You're really here?"

"Are you one of the miners?" I asked, stepping closer.

"Aye," he replied. "Jansen. I thought I was a dead man."

"Did any of your fellows make it out?" I asked.

"I saw a bunch running for the exit, but I was cut off. I've been hiding in here for I don't know how long. I wanted to run, but there's dragons, you see."

"How did you survive? It's been weeks!"

"There's food and water in the storeroom. I've been hiding in there. Did you really kill all those dragons? Even the big one?"

"What big one?"

"The one through that tunnel. Bigger than my house! Bigger than the Hanged Man!"

"No, we haven't reached that one yet, but the rest are dead. If you go back the way we came in, you'll be fine."

"You don't have to tell me twice! Good luck up ahead, and don't go out that way. That's where the big one is."

He scampered off in search of freedom. I wondered if he would be able to catch the ferry back tonight or if we would find him in the base camp once we left the mines. I hoped that he would not drink our beer.

"Now we know where the female is," Anders observed.

"Now we know," I agreed. "Time to earn our pay?"

Nobody answered. We just girded our loins, as it were, and climbed toward the light. The dragon was waiting for us.

I got no more than an impression of scales and immense size before flame blossomed around us. I threw up my hand and a barrier sprang up between us and the fire. I have no idea where that spell came from. I have never cast it before. Still, if there is ever a good time to spontaneously learn a new spell, that was it.

"Maker's breath!" Carver swore. "Look at the size of her!"

Fearless, my brother jumped at the dragon. I tried to immobilize her with a wave of crushing force, but it had no effect. She buffeted us with her wings. Carver remained upright, but the rest of us went flying. I cast another spell at her, something that would slow her down. This one worked, though I did not know for how long. We all laid into her with everything we had. I held back only enough of my reserves to cast a healing spell if it became necessary, then closed in to attack with my staff. Varric had circled around behind the beast, but a vicious tail-swipe launched him across the plateau. I rushed to his side and used the last of my mana to heal him. Then we all dove for cover as the creature spewed fire at us. The brunt of the blast caught Anders in the chest. I leapt over Varric's crouched form to aid him, but he was already healing his burns.

"That would have been a good time for that shield spell," he said.

"I've got nothing left!"

"Use a lyrium potion! That's what they're for!"

I obeyed him. As with my previous experiment with lyrium, the world simultaneously became more focused and more chaotic. Colors were more intense; my perceptions were enhanced. My energy returned and I hurled a ball of ice at the dragon. She roared, stunning me.

When I recovered my wits, I renewed the attack. I would pay for exceeding my reserves later, if there ever was a later, but it was that or perish.

We probably owed our survival to Carver. His blade bit her again and again, and when the rest of us were knocked down by wing or by tail, my brother stood his ground.

The fight stretched on. My strength was failing me again. I did not know what would happen if I used two lyrium potions in a row. Nothing good, I imagined, but I decided to risk it. My timing was perfect. I was just in time to erect a deflecting barrier between Carver and the dragon's nostrils before she breathed fire again. I conserved my strength this time, trying to prolong the effects of the potion I had drunk, and waded in beside my brother to attack it with my staff. She turned her head, seized my arm in her jaws, and shook me like a wet mabari. I held on long enough to send a ball of ice through her eye into her brain and I knew no more.

When I regained consciousness, it was dark. Anders's face filled my vision. I blinked.

"So! You've decided to return to us, after all?" he said, his voice thick with relief. "I wasn't sure if you would find your way back."

"Is he conscious?" Carver demanded. "Will he live?"

"I think so, yes," Anders responded. I tried to say something, but I was too weary to speak. "Hush, don't try to talk just yet. She just about tore your arm off, but I've healed your wounds. The real problem is that you've barely got enough of your own strength left to keep your heart beating."

"He'll get better, won't he?" Carver asked anxiously.

"Yes," Anders said. "I've mixed up a potion that should restore some of his strength, but it's going to take a full night's sleep to get him back to where he should be. We should plan on camping here tonight. Unless one of you feels like carrying him back to the camp, that is."

"I'll pass," said Varric.

"Alright, I've got the potion ready," Anders said. "Carver, lift him up so he doesn't choke on it. Sips, Iain. And this is going to burn like mad, so be ready for it."

As Carver moved me, I started to cough and blacked out again. The next thing I knew, I was more or less sitting upright while Carver supported me and Anders spooned a scorching liquid into my mouth.

"He isn't swallowing," Carver fretted. "Are you sure about this?"

"The potion will work even if it's absorbed through his skin," Anders said calmly. "It will take longer that way, but once we've got a bit more into him, he'll be able to swallow on his own."

A few moments later, I was able to prove Anders right. Warmth spread outward from my gullet and belly, restoring vitality in its wake. I was still exhausted, but I was able to sip the potion and scowl at its taste.

"How long will that take?" Carver asked as he eased me back down to the ground.

"Better already," I breathed. Varric handed Anders a blanket and they covered me with it.

"Does he need anything?" Varric asked.

"Apart from common sense?" Anders retorted. "Just the same things as the rest of us. Food and rest."

"The food's going to be a problem," Varric remarked. "We left it all back at camp."

"That isn't a problem," Carver shrugged. "With the mines clear, you and I can go back for it while Anders puts Iain back together."

"That works," Varric agreed.

Anders waited until the two of them were out of earshot before he lashed into me.

"What were you thinking?" he demanded. "Do you have any idea how dangerous that was?"

"I had no idea it would be that bad," I said. "I take it we won?"

"That Winter's Grasp killed her. I really should tear you a new one, but it's just going to go in one ear and out the other."

I nodded.

"Was everybody else alright?"

"Varric got dented a bit when the dragon fell, but it's just bruises. Your staff hit Carver in the head when the dragon picked you up, but there's nothing in there to damage. We got lucky. You got lucky. Iain, when you take lyrium, it enhances your connection to the Fade. You pull energy from there once your own is gone. You don't have to pay it all back, thank the Maker, but the mere act of serving as a conduit is exhausting."

"So I see," I said weakly. "I've never been this tired in my life."

"There is another aspect of it, though. Two more. The first is that lyrium is addictive. Your spirit is drawn to the Fade. It craves anything that strengthens that bond. For us, this is no great danger. We use it under specific circumstances when our reserves are already depleted. Some people – templars – take lyrium all the time, with their powers already at full strength. Since there is no need for them to draw energy from the Fade, they are drawn into the Fade themselves. Eventually, they lose the ability to find their way out. Also, they never stop craving the stuff. They cannot fully enter the Fade the way we can, but their spirits still long to experience it. A templar without lyrium is a terrible thing to behold."

"So, don't use it unless you are already tired," I summarized.

"Exactly," he said. "The second consideration is that you will eventually get better at this. Once you learn how to pace yourself, you will be able to quaff vial after vial of the stuff without endangering your health. Your error today was in taking the second vial before the first wore off. Yes, you used all your mana, but you were still under the effects of the lyrium. The connection was still open. In time, you will learn how to judge when it's safe to take another potion."

"So, I pretty much risked death and insanity because I suck at this?"

"Pretty much. Don't be too hard on yourself, though. Your training was better than most apostates', but your father did not exactly have a crate of lyrium set aside for your education."

"True. Would you mind if I slept for a bit?"

"No, I think you should. I'll wake you when dinner is ready."

I think I was asleep before my eyes were even closed.

"Can you sit up?" Anders asked me a short time later.

"I think so," I said and found that I could. I was bone-tired, as if I had spent all day and part of the night threshing grain, but it was a normal fatigue, not the kind I felt earlier where it was too much trouble to draw breath. So I sat cross-legged on the ground and ate porridge while Carver and Varric joked about my lack of stamina and my inappropriate desire to play hero.

"What was in that potion you gave me before?" I asked Anders. "It really did wonders."

"This and that," he said evasively. "I was fixing the drain for the bathtub the other day and found a sealed cache of books beneath the floor. My clinic was once a dwelling of some kind, it seems, or a storage room, perhaps. Or maybe it was always a hospital of one kind or another."

"The books?" I prompted.

"Ah, yes. They're in the ancient language of Tevinter. I don't speak it myself, but I have texts to use as cross-reference. Some fascinating potions recipes in there. Maybe you can help me with the translations?"

"We could ask Fenris to help us," I suggested.

"Are you serious?"

"Maybe if he did not feel so excluded, he would be more understanding toward our cause."

"Fenris chooses to remain as he is. He may help if you ask him, but he will rant about vile magisters the whole time. And that's assuming that he can even read the texts. They are very, very old and the language may have changed."

"Well, I'll leave that up to you," I said. "It's your home. I just thought it might be nice if we could all work together toward a common goal."

"I don't know if there is a goal we all can share."

"That reminds me," I said, "did anybody think to get a blood sample for your friend Solitivus? He asked us to keep an eye out for rare reagents."

"Yes, I collected some in an empty vial while you were sleeping. Though we should probably plan on going back to Kirkwall tomorrow if we want to get it too him before it goes bad."

"Will Hawke be up for all that?" Varric interrupted. "He didn't seem too spry, just now."

"He'll be good as new after a good night's rest," Anders said. "Fade drain is debilitating, but once the spirit is fully returned to the body, recovery is usually very rapid."

"Fade drain?" Varric wrinkled his nose. "Makes me glad I'm a dwarf! What wacky ailments you humans have. And I like my spirit just where it is."

"Did you happen to find any treasure?" I asked Varric.

"What do you think this is, a fairy tale?" Varric laughed. "I found a pile of cast off old junk from the dragon's high-protein diet, but if you're looking for piles of gold, you're in the wrong adventure."

"Dibs on the boots!" Carver called.

"All yours, brother," I yawned.

"You should see if you can sleep," Anders said.

"I will. Would I be imposing too much if I asked you to hand me my journal and pencil? They're right in the top of my pack."

He sighed with exasperation, but got the items I requested. Then, he sat down behind me so I could lean against him while I write. I think I am done for the day, though. I wonder what Macha is doing right now. Is she thinking about me? By this time tomorrow, my world may be very, very different. I may never be lonely again.


	27. Chapter 27: Almost Enough

_BioWare owns everyone but Iain. I just forget to return their library books._

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><p>9:31 Dragon, 15 Drakonis; Gamlen's house, Lowtown<p>

As per Anders's predictions, I woke rested and refreshed. Anders wanted to delay our departure until we had another meal in us, but I was eager to return to Kirkwall and to Macha. Varric cast the deciding vote, though. He did not want to attempt the crossing with a full stomach, so we opted to skip breakfast and take the first ferry back.

By the time we reached the pier, we had all come around to Varric's reasoning. The water was choppier today, and it promised to be a rough ride. Regardless, we made the Lowtown wharf in good time. We decided to go straight to Hubert before anything else. Noon was approaching, and I feared that if I did not catch Macha before she left, I might have to wait until tomorrow to see her.

Hubert stood in his usual spot. He was not surprised to see us.

"You were successful?" he asked. "One of the miners came back last night with some wild story about a rescue from dragons. I had him whipped for lying."

"He was telling the truth," I said, wincing at Hubert's brutality. "You can go see the corpses for yourself."

"But dragons are extinct!" he protested.

"Now they are," Varric quipped.

"Then the miners can go back to work, no?"

"After they clean up the remains of the last shift, I take it?" I snorted. Hubert irritated me.

"A dragon slayer and a mind reader! You are multi-talented, it seems."

The Orlesian scratched his chin.

"I suppose I must pay you," he said after a pause. "Since you have proven yourself so capable, I invite you to share in the enterprise. "

"Tell me you aren't considering it," Carver muttered in my direction.

"Fifty-fifty," Hubert wheedled. "You'll make us both rich and you'll keep your countrymen safe. What do you say?"

"Think about it, Carver," I said. "The workers will be better off with us there to speak for them."

Carver did not vocalize his consent, but I could sense his reluctance weakening.

"Wonderful!" Hubert beamed and handed me a very light coin purse. Parsimonious bastard. "I will have to hire new workers. Plenty of Fereldans eager for work. In the meantime, you should pay a visit to the surviving workers and convince them to come back. They hold forth in Lowtown, behind the Hanged Man."

We found Jansen and the remaining workers where Hubert said we would find them. They were visibly intoxicated, but the ferry ride back to the Bone Pit would sober them up, if they agreed to the terms. They were a little reluctant, at first, but their resistance crumbled when I offered to double their salaries.

"You did what?" Hubert bellowed when I told him.

"You get what you pay for, Hubert," I said. "They'll work harder, now that they know they're valued."

"Give scraps to a dog and you'll only teach it to beg!" Hubert snorted. "I'm trying to run a business here!"

"You weren't running anything until we fixed your problems," Carver retorted.

"Very well, I'll forgive you this once," Hubert sighed. "But from now on, I handle the money."

I was still shaking my head over Hubert's poor business sense when I entered Quarry Yard. What I saw on my arrival made me want to turn around and have another go at the Bone Pit. The garments I wore to Macha's house on the afternoon of my departure were hanging out to dry.

"I'd better go on ahead," I said to Carver. "Give me a quarter hour to get past the first wave and come in. That should distract Mother long enough for me to escape."

Carver laughed. "You didn't plan this thoroughly when we fought the dragon!"

"I don't have to live with the dragon."

I went in alone. Peaches' joyful greeting almost knocked me over, but he quieted down after a few moments of vigorous petting and then followed me to the table. Mother was mending a pair of Carver's breeches.

"You managed to avoid getting your face bashed, I see," she observed.

"So I did," I tried to be nonchalant. "I decided to block with my arm instead. Anders fixed it, though, so I'm fit for duty."

"We need to talk," she said.

I sighed. "I hoped I might be old enough to escape the maternal bedding searches."

"Blame Peaches, not me. I wouldn't have gone near that mess you call a bed if your dog hadn't torn the mattress apart. He misses you terribly when you go away."

"I'm glad I left him here with you. The dragon would have roasted him for sure."

"The dragon!" Mother gasped. "Please tell me you aren't serious."

"Of course not. So you think I need to hear about responsibility?"

"No, I don't think I have to worry about that with you. Carver was quite young when he started exploring that aspect of romantic relationships – far too young, in fact. Your father and I felt that a candid discussion about his obligations to the lady in question would do him some good. You feel your responsibilities far too keenly for me to worry about you getting a girl with child and then leaving her."

"Yet we still need to talk?"

"Iain, raising a child puts tremendous strain on a marriage. Raising a mage child, doubly so. Bethany wasn't too bad, but you! Maker, you were a handful. You set Carver's pants on fire right in the middle of town once because he pulled your hair. We got through it, but only because the love your father and I had for each other was so strong to begin with."

"We haven't discussed children yet," I said. The idea chilled me. It was not the prospect of fatherhood. It was the sound of the lock closing fast. It was completely irrational and I knew it. I did not want to spend my whole life alone. Sooner or later, I would have to commit to someone.

"Don't you think you should, before things go any further?" she asked. "Not all pregnancies are planned."

"I've never been afraid of hard work," I said. "If something does happen, we'll make the best of it."

"You don't say that you love her," mother observed.

"I don't have to say something to feel it."

"So, you do love her, then? If Anders were to walk through that door this very moment and tell you that he loves you and wants to be yours forever, you'd tell him that your heart belongs to this girl whose name you can't even bring yourself to say?"

"He won't. And her name is Macha."

"And is it fair to Macha or to yourself to commit to one person while you're longing for another?"

"Anders will never have me."

"You don't know that."

"I do know that. We've talked about it countless times. And since I can't have him, I'll have to take what I can get."

"Oh, I'm sure she'd just love to hear you say that."

"What am I supposed to say? Even if she and I don't have everything in common, she is still a good person. Some happiness is better than none at all."

"You don't think you should try for more than that?" she asked.

"Not everyone is lucky enough to find what you and Father had."

"No, I suppose not. Still, it breaks my heart to think that you're settling and that you know it."

The door opened.

"So," Carver greeted us. "All done telling Iain where not to stick his salami?"

"Would you be terribly upset if I cast a fireball in the house?" I asked Mother.

"Under the circumstances, no," she glared at my brother. "Honestly, Carver, must you be so vulgar?"

"Sorry, Mother," Carver mumbled. "Say, do you think we should drop off that dragon blood with Solitivus before it goes bad? I can run it over to the Gallows, if you've got plans."

"Iain! I thought you said you weren't serious!"

Carver slipped out the door before Mother's rant started. I sighed. "And this is why I don't tell you what we're doing more often. Mother, the thing was eating miners. We couldn't just leave it there."

"No, I suppose not. Were you at least paid for your troubles?"

"It wasn't about the money," I said.

"In other words, no," Mother sighed.

"Hubert wasn't a complete miser. And I own half the mine. That's got to be worth something."

"Has this mine ever turned a profit?" she persisted.

I deflected. "You know, Mother, I'd really like a bath before I go out. Could I have the kitchen to myself for a while?"

She consented with reluctance and I got out the tub. It was an unpleasant cold-water affair today. I had to get to the Chantry before it closed and I decided that heating water would take too long.

After my bath, I literally ran to the Chantry, which probably undid all the good of my bath. The Chantry doors were locked fast. Discouraged, I returned to Quarry Yard... and approached the door of my beloved. With my mind made up, I was determined to think of her as such. I told myself that I would not be the first man to fall in love as a conscious decision. I knocked at the door.

"Iain!" she threw her arms around my neck and kissed me enthusiastically. "Your timing is perfect. Father just went out and I don't expect him back until dinnertime."

She led me into the house and sat me down at the table. She straddled my legs again, and I wondered if I should just plan on carrying a cloak everywhere to hide the stains. This time, she did not press herself against me. She kissed me passionately and started unbuckling my tunic.

"Macha..." I stammered, "what -"

"I told you I wouldn't make you wait," she said around her kisses. "Maker's breath, did you really have to wear such a complicated belt?"

"Sorry, I didn't expect to be doing this. Let me stand up and I'll take it off."

She let me stand, and busied herself with undoing the rest of my buckles while I was occupied. Both belt and tunic dropped to the floor. My head was spinning. I wanted this, but it was too sudden. I was not ready. Or my brain was not. My body was right up to speed. I tugged at the laces of her bodice.

"Come on, Iain," she said, taking my arms and propelling me toward one of the doors off the main room. "If we're going to do this, I want to do it properly. Bend over."

"What?" I gasped, though I did as she commanded. She seized the hem of my shirt and yanked it over my head. I straightened and she tore at the laces of my pants.

"Macha, slow down!" I protested. "We do have some time, and we'll never have another chance to have a first night together."

"I've waited years already!"

I cried out as she jerked both trousers and breeches over my hips. I was already erect, and she had not bothered to see if the fabric was wrapped around anything important. The sudden downward movement bent me painfully.

"Damn it, woman, slow down! What's gotten into you?"

"You will be soon, I hope. If we can wake you up a little more."

My arousal had flagged in the face of her aggression, but what she did next set things in motion again. I had no idea someone could do something like that with the tongue.

"Macha," I moaned. "You need to stop. I can't take much more of that."

Mercifully, she stood up again. I embraced her, made awkward by the trousers that were bunched up around my legs. It was happening too quickly for me to keep up. I was overwhelmed by the surge of physical stimulation crashing up against the emotional confusion I was still feeling. I kissed her neck and pushed her gown over her shoulders. For the first time, I was touching breasts. They were not as large or as rounded as Isabela's, but they were still substantial. I slid my hands over them, savoring their velvet softness. I bent to kiss them and allowed one hand to push her dress down further until it slid over her hips. I caressed her backside, then guided my hand around to explore regions I had never seen on a human woman.

"Easy, Iain," she murmured. "I've got a better spot in mind for that kind of play."

She pushed me backward onto the bed. My legs tangled in my trousers and I fell, legs in the air. She laughed and tugged each boot off, tossing them heedlessly across the room. She stepped out of her gown and lay beside me.

We rested a moment, catching our breath and resuming our tour of anatomy. I rolled onto my side and took her face in my hands.

"Are you sure about this?" I asked. "Once it's done, there's no going back."

"I want this."

She pulled me toward her and I obeyed, positioning myself between her spread knees. I was half-mad with lust. I was terrified. It was the most exquisite torture, lying between her legs, poised at the threshold. One push would make a man of me.

"Iain, wait," she interrupted. I froze. "Do you love me?"

"Yes!" I groaned.

"Really? Heart and soul?"

"Yes!" I said without hesitation. At that moment, doubt was forgotten. "You accept me, magic and all."

"What?" she cried, thrusting violently away from me. "What did you say?"

"Magic," I repeated, confused once again. "You want me, even knowing that I'm a mage."

She screamed and flailed beneath me, kicking me in her haste to get away from me. I recoiled, but she just kept on striking me, fists and heels thudding painfully against my flesh.

"Macha, what -"

"Get away from me! Get away, I tell you!"

Her assault pushed me off her and she leapt from the bed.

"Get out! Get out!" she shrieked.

"Macha, calm down!" I pleaded. "You know what I am. Keran told you!"

"He said nothing! He said your friend was the mage! All this time, you've been lying to me! You've been poisoning my mind, controlling me!"

"Macha, I never-"

"No more! I won't let you! I won't be your blood thrall any longer!"

She picked up my boot and started hitting me with it. I grabbed for my pants, but between the hitting and the kicking, I fell back into the kitchen.

"How could I be so stupid!" she wailed. "You _forced_ me love you! You monster!"

She threw my boot at my head but I was able to catch it. She seized the poker from the fireplace and brought it down hard across my shoulder. She then lunged at me, trying to stab me with the point.

"Macha, let me get dressed and I'll go!"

"Get out!" she screamed, still attacking me with the poker. She grabbed the pot of stew that hung over the fire and hurled it at me, pot and all. I cried out as it scalded me. I ran. She slammed the door behind me.

For several moments, I rested with my forehead to the door, trying to make sense of what happened. I was bruised, burned, and naked. She was gone. And then I became aware of the silence.

Quarry Yard is a busy place. All day and all night, people come and go, passing between the market and the alienage or other parts of the Old City. But now it was quiet. Because there was a naked man standing on somebody's doorstep. I turned slowly, clutching the one boot I still held as the only shield between me and the world. A dozen mouths hung open. Two dozen eyes bored into me. My options were limited. Meekly, I crossed the yard to my uncle's door. It was locked. I pounded upon it.

"Maker's breath, what's the matter with you?" Gamlen spat, jerking me inside by the arm. "Your boy's come home, Leandra. Can't wait to hear _this_ story."

My mother and Carver sat at the table playing cards. They both stared at me, mute.

"She threw me out," I said dazedly.

"You're... naked," Mother observed, hardly less stunned than myself. I recovered enough of my wits to pull on some pants from the laundry pile. They were Carver's, but I did not care.

"I... "I began, then trailed off. I went to the table and sat down, lightheaded. Carver poured me a cup of beer. I stared at it. He pushed it closer. I expected them to jump at me with questions, but they did not. They did not ignore me; they waited for me to regain my composure. It took quite a while.

"Iain, what happened?" Mother asked at last.

"She didn't know," I said. "She asked me if I loved her, and I told her that I did, and when I told her why, she started yelling and hitting me and accusing me of making her my blood thrall."

"You sure can pick 'em, boy," Gamlen laughed.

"This isn't funny!" Mother snapped.

"It's downright hysterical!" Gamlen disagreed.

"How funny will it be when the templars come?" Carver barked. He got up and herded me toward the door.

"Go to Anders," he said. "He'll keep you safe until Mother and I can -"

The door opened. Nobody had locked it after Gamlen let me in. Macha's father stood framed in the threshold, weaving unsteadily.

"You!" he drawled, lurching drunkenly toward me. He thrust a wad of balled-up clothing at me. I caught it. He slapped me in the jaw. "I'll teach you to meddle with my daughter!"

His fist hit me in the gut.

"Father, no!" Macha's voice pleaded. I did not see her. She must have been outside on the stair.

"Big man he is, preying on girls while their fathers aren't home!" the old man slurred. He hit me again, though the impact made him stagger. "Coward! I'll make you fight me!"

He attacked me in earnest, lashing out blindly with his fists and occasionally landing a blow.

"Touch him again and you'll regret it!" Carver threatened.

"Hiding behind his betters, is he?" the old man taunted. "I said he's a coward, and I'll say it again!"

"He just killed a dragon, old fool!" Carver retorted. "He isn't afraid of a drunkard!"

"Carver, stand down!" I interjected. "Ser, your daughter is right outside. I'm sure that if you ask her, she'll –"

The man was almost too drunk to stand, but his fist caught me squarely in the nose. I felt it break.

"I'll make you pay for what you've done, you bastard!" he ranted.

He came at me again, arms flailing like a thresher.

"Alright," I said calmly, despite the blood flowing freely from my nose, "that's enough."

I put the clothing down on the table and approached Macha's father. I pinned his arms to his sides and carried him out the door, with him kicking and cursing all the while.

"Iain, your nose!" Macha cried.

"Take him home and dry him out," I told her. I turned and went back into the house.

"I'm... sorry," I heard as the door closed behind me.

"Lock it," I said to Carver. "She won't go to the templars."

"You don't know that," Mother fretted.

"The old man thought I overpowered her," I said flatly, dabbing at my nose and wincing at the blood and the pain. "She didn't tell him about the magic."

"That doesn't mean she never will!" Mother argued. "We can't be too careful."

"Yes we can," I said. "I'm not uprooting our family again. If there's a price to pay, I'll pay it, but I've done with living in fear."

"Oh, Iain," Mother sighed, dabbing at my nose while I tried to push her hands away. "Your father and I thought you could have a normal life, if we just kept you out of the Circle. It hasn't really worked out that way, has it?"

"It's been normal enough," I tried to smile despite the blinding pain in my face. "After all, he did treat me like any other overbearing and unwelcome suitor. I should be flattered. The worst part is that I'm going to have to live with the nose."

"You can't be serious," she protested. "I've seen you heal worse than this."

"Oh, I could heal it," I agreed, "but I don't dare. Macha's father drinks at the Hanged Man, if he's sober enough for Norah to let him in. If I show up there with my nose unbroken, he'll know."

"Oh, dear," Mother sighed. "But you can't leave it crooked like that."

"I won't," I said... and I straightened it. I all but howled with the pain, but it was an improvement.

"You know, brother," I said once my eyes stopped tearing, "I could do with an ale. Care to join me?"

"Are you sure that's wise?" Mother asked, following me into the bedroom while I drew on a tunic.

"Probably not, but I'm going to do it anyway."

As usual, there was a card game underway in Varric's suite when I arrived. Even Aveline and Merrill were there. I took my usual spot between Anders and Varric.

"Makers breath, Hawke!" Varric laughed. "Nice face!"

"Who's week is it?" I asked. Fenris raised his hand.

"You lose," I said. "Aveline and Anders share the winnings."

"What's this?" Isabela chortled. "I was sure you had a shoe in. Or something like that."

"No, Isabela," I grinned, forcing myself to look cheerful, "I'm afraid I really am that bad at this."

"Do you need to talk?" Anders asked me under his breath.

"Yes," I said out of the corner of my mouth, "but let them have their fun."

And have their fun they did, each in their own way. Aveline offered to help me file a grievance against her father for assault, which I declined. Isabela made a thousand suggestive comments while offering to help Fenris win his bet by a more roundabout route. That, too, I declined. I was feeling too emotionally tossed-about to indulge. Merrill announced that she had taken no part in the betting since she thought it was silly anyway. I was grateful to her for that.

Nothing lasts forever, though, and the conversation eventually turned away from my inability to complete a romance to the point where the other party would consent to have sex with me.

"We can probably duck out any time you please," Anders whispered.

"Alright, then," I agreed. "I'll make our excuses and we can take the Lowtown route to the Undercity."

"I don't need to go to the clinic tonight," he said."We can talk just as freely on your uncle's steps, and I'd rather not send you through Darktown alone when we're done talking. Unless your family would rather I didn't impose."

"Mother said that it's fine as long as I bunk with Carver," I said. "I think she's worried that I'll molest you in your sleep. And that she'll have to listen to it."

"After last time, she might have more reason to fear the reverse."

Quarry Yard was deserted. We sat side by side on the stair, but it was several moments before I decided what I would say.

"I don't hate her," I said. "Even after she told her father that I tried to force myself on her, I can't."

"Why would she say something like that?" Anders asked. "Were you too... amorous?"

"No! I wanted to take it slow. She was the one who was in a hurry. She couldn't get me on top of her fast enough."

"So, you did lie with her, then? Did you not want Fenris to win the bet?"

"No, I did not lie with her. I was right up against her lower lips when she stopped me, though."

"That must have been frustrating. Did she have second thoughts?"

"She found out about my talents. You were right. She didn't know."

"I'm afraid to ask how she found that out while she was in bed with you."

"She asked me if I loved her. And then I said that I did because she could deal with my... quirks. And she threw me out."

"Was she the one that broke your nose? Why didn't you fix that, by the way?"

"No, her father did. She told him I got pushy. But as she didn't tell him the real reason, I thought that I had better leave it broken. I wish I _could_ fix it, though. It hurts like mad."

"You could just go in and repair the cartilage and bone while leaving the swelling alone. It will still hurt a little, but it would be better than it is now."

"You can do that? Just fix part of an injury while leaving the rest?"

"You can't? It's fascinating, the different ways our talents manifest. I'll explain it before I do it and maybe you will be able to learn it. I'm going to go in and sense the structures that are damaged -"

"You've lost me already. I can't do that. It's like painting. You take your brush and dab and stroke where you want the paint to go. I just toss the paint at it and hope some of it sticks."

"Ah," he sighed. "Well, I can still fix it for you. Let me see your face."

We turned toward each other and he took my face in both his hands, his thumbs toward my nose and his long, elegant fingers curving around my cheeks. He was so close to me... I could have licked him, had I wanted to risk the distraction. First, I felt the tingle of his awareness tracing the broken, angular bones, and then the cool surge of healing that followed. My nose felt better immediately.

"Iain?" Macha's voice floated up to me. She stood at the bottom of the stair, her mouth open and her expression shocked.

With no warning whatsoever, Anders kissed me. He did not kiss my lips, but he was very, very close. He made quite a show of it, moaning and turning his head this way and that in the throes of simulated passion. I threw my arms around him and added a few groans of my own. These were genuine, however.

"Iain!" Macha sobbed. "You and _him_? I should have known!"

I heard her running footsteps against the stone as she retreated into her home.

"I am so, so sorry," Anders sighed, releasing me. "I didn't know what else to do."

"No, I understand completely," I said, taking a few deep breaths. "Just put your arms around me for a few moments while I calm down, alright?"

He obeyed. Gradually, my raging lust subsided.

"I know why you had to do that," I explained, "but as far as my body is concerned, you meant every bit of it. Recovering from that in your arms makes it feel less like rejection slapping me down again."

"Oh, Iain," he said softy, his embrace tightening. "This really has been a bad day for you, hasn't it?"

"No, Anders," I disagreed. "It's been a day. Some good, some bad. This is the good part. I know this is as far as it goes, but it makes me feel better inside than getting groped by Macha did. Even when she did that thing with her mouth."

He sat silent for a moment, letting me savor our togetherness.

"I have to know," he said eventually. "What did she do with her mouth?"

"She put her mouth around me," I said, blusing in the darkness. "It was..."

"Incredible?" he suggested. "And you like this better than that?"

"It makes my heart stop hurting."

"Over losing Macha?"

"No," I said, snuggling deeper in his embrace. "I _was_ in pain when Macha threw me out, but that was because she was beating me with a poker at the time. In my heart, I felt... very little. I was disappointed to find that she was not as open-minded as I thought she was. I was frustrated because I was very, very aroused and could do nothing about it. I expected to be gutted, but I don't feel bereft. I just feel... numb, if that's the right word. As if I'm supposed to feel something and I don't."

"I understand," he said. "You're lonely. You wanted her to be the one, but she wasn't."

I nodded.

"Are you feeling better now?" he asked after a while.

"As much as I can probably expect."

"Then let's go inside. My ass has fallen asleep."

I laughed at that and let us both into the house. Mother was still awake and playing cards with Gamlen. She invited us to join them. I played for a while, but fatigue was setting in fast. Carver's arrival allowed me to bow out of the game. I read the mail (nothing exciting) and I write, and I watch Anders interact with my family. Gamlen ignores him, for the most part, as he ignores my brother and me. Carver barely tolerates him, but they are civil to each other for my sake. Mother acts as if his presence in our home is the most natural thing in the world. The ache in my heart is back. I wish every evening could be like this one: one big family living and loving and quarreling and joking together. If only Bethany could be here to enjoy it. She would have loved to have someone to pore over musty old books with. And I wish Anders would not leave in the morning. He belongs here with us. He belongs here with me.


	28. Chapter 28: Wayward Apostates

_AN: Bioware owns everybody but Iain. I just write unacceptably long chapters about them._

* * *

><p>9:31 Guardian, 26 Drakonis; The Hanged Man, Lowtown<p>

The time since my disappointment with Macha has been dull, but busy. I still go to the Hanged Man in the evenings to socialize with the others, but I have been spending my days with Anders, helping in his clinic and assisting him with his translations. I would never have thought I would become so studious, but I find that I am beginning to enjoy the research we do together. That, and it helps me forget about Macha.

"You're doing well," Anders encouraged me, looking over my shoulder at the text I transcribed. "Your handwriting is much neater than mine."

"You can thank my father for that," I smiled. "He insisted that we practice our penmanship."

"You were close?" he asked tentatively.

"It's odd," I sighed. "When my father was alive, he was just Father. We did things together. Yes, there were our studies, and our training, but we also did things as a family. Farmers aren't busy all the time. We had our chores, and planting and harvest are always exhausting, but for much of the year, we just... were. Father would show us the tadpoles in the pond near our house and explain how they would grow up to be frogs, or he'd help us build kites or teach us to wrestle. Now... "

"Now, you miss that."

"Especially now. I would have told him everything that was on my mind, and he would have had some profound advice for me. Or maybe he wouldn't have. But he would have made me feel... normal."

"Is something bothering you?"

"Just the usual," I said wryly. "I've still got twelve sovereigns to earn so that I can buy into an expedition that will take me into the bowels of Thedas, I'm half-owner of a mine run by a slimy Orlesian, my two best friends are a dwarf who hates the dark and a hunted apostate, and I'm broken up over losing the love of a woman I didn't want anyway. And my mother is still angry with me for getting my sister killed."

He reached over me and gently closed the book I was working on.

"That's enough for now," he said. "I wish there was some way I could help you. I hate to see you struggling alone."

"You do," I observed.

"You are not beyond saving. And it's my fault as much as yours about Macha."

"Your fault?"

"If I hadn't made you seem fickle, she would have forgiven you for being born a mage. Eventually. She was probably on her way over to tell you that herself."

"In that case, I owe you my eternal gratitude. Do you want to know what I remember about her?"

"Tell me," he said.

"I remember distrusting her piety. We lived next door to each other but she insisted that we meet in the Chantry. I thought she was testing me, seeing how far I would walk to be with her. I remember how insipid our conversations were. I've had more meaningful discussions with the pie baker. I remember how she tried to trick me into committing myself to her. She never wanted to talk about our future when we were dressed. She'd get me good and worked up and then she'd start asking for promises. She didn't want me. She just saw me as a way to get out of Quarry Yard and escape that drunken excuse of a father."

"You're grieving, Iain," he said once my diatribe ended. "You're feeling hurt and angry about things that are outside your control."

"But I meant it, Anders," I insisted. "I was lying to myself because I was desperate, but in my heart, I didn't even like her."

"I'm not only talking about her," he said gently. "You're mourning your father, and your sister, and your home in Lothering, and yes, Macha, too. You've lost a lot, Iain. You can't expect that to just roll off you."

"Carver lost just as much, if not more. Bethany was his twin."

"But Carver has someone to blame. You take everything out on yourself."

"Who else is left?"

"Sometimes, it's nobody's fault."

"I never cried, you know. When father died. When Bethany died."

"Perhaps you will, one day. When you are ready to let them go."

Neither of us said anything for a while after that. My outburst was hardly violent, but it was draining. Anders still stood behind me, his hand on my shoulder, comforting me. He did not coddle me or drown me in pity. He just let me know he was there and that he was listening.

"I'm tired of being cooped up indoors," he said after a while, probably for my benefit. Left to his own devices, Anders would read indefinitely. "Do you want to go out today?"

"Very much," I grinned. "But you won't like where I want to go."

"You want to visit Fenris?" Anders scowled.

"No, Aveline. I haven't seen her since the night I broke my nose, and when she visited my mother yesterday, she said that if I got the chance, she has something she wanted to talk to me about."

"And you came here instead?" Anders teased. "I would have thought you'd find any excuse to get out of helping with the translations."

"Aveline nags," I groaned.

"Would she be more or less likely to do that if I were with you?"

"Doesn't matter. Nothing stops her."

"Guess we'd better get it over with."

We took the lift between Darktown and Hightown and encountered Fenris in the Chantry Courtyard. He was on his way to the Hanged Man to find me, he said, and asked to accompany us to Viscount's Keep.

"It has been some time since you paid me a visit," Fenris remarked, though his eyes were on Anders. "I should hope our misunderstanding has not kept you away."

I stared at him. The last time Fenris and I attempted light social interaction, I wound up betraying my dearest friend. What could possibly entice me to want me to repeat that experience?

"Uh... no," I heard myself say. "That wasn't it."

"Then I shall look for you soon," Fenris said, ignoring the faces Anders was making. I had better think this through. If I want to improve my relationship with Fenris, this is probably my best chance of doing so, but Anders has been a very good friend to me. I had really better talk to him before paying Fenris any visits.

Aveline was in her office, as usual.

"You need to do something about Merrill," she told me without preamble.

"Merrill? What could she possibly have done?"

"She's started a compost heap. There have been complaints."

"A compost heap? In Kirkwall?" I shook my head. "Isn't there enough garbage lying about? Why should anybody complain about hers?"

"She's gotten it into her head to keep a garden," Aveline shrugged.

"I'll talk to her."

"I'll come with you. I've been meaning to do a tour of the alienage. It's important to let its inhabitants know that the law has not forgotten them."

I could do nothing but shake my head at Aveline's... at Aveline. Merrill is an elven blood mage with no concept of discretion and Aveline was concerned about her horticultural endeavors? If I were guard captain, I would tell her neighbors to hold their noses and be glad she was not summoning demons to help with the weeding. Then again, maybe that is why I am not guard captain. That, and I could never say "the law has not forgotten them" with a straight face. I do love her, though. She is the one person in Kirkwall who says more ridiculous things than me.

Carver was not at Merrill's house when we arrived. I wondered whether he was sleeping late or if his frustration had reached its limits. I have never seen him woo a girl as respectfully (or circuitously) as he has Merrill, but I cannot help thinking that he might have better luck if he were more candid about his attraction. Though even that might not help. If he showed up naked in her bedchamber saying "Take me!", Merrill would probably say "Take you where? You'll catch cold!" There must be less ingenuous flowers to pollinate, if that is his intent. Or perhaps I should just mind my own business. Had I any wisdom on the subject, my own romantic aspirations would not now lie in ashes.

Merrill entertained us graciously, or as graciously as her humble means would allow. Looking around her shabby little home, I felt guilty about doing so little to help her. I should talk to Varric about finding her employment. With her own plans for a garden thwarted (she took it better than I expected), perhaps she can help with the gardens in Hightown. She would take just as much pleasure in caring for somebody else's plants as she would for her own, I think. She does not really understand the concept of personal property anyway, so it would all be one to her. In any case, our visit was not long. It was near midday and Merrill began to fret that she did not have enough food for all of us. I invited her to dine with us at the Hanged Man, but she said she had a fish that would spoil if she did not eat it soon.

I was in for a shock once we left Merrill's house. There, not five yards from the door, a templar stood talking to a tattooed elven woman. I was sure that Macha had betrayed me and that the templar was looking for me. As I drew closer, my fears proved groundless.

"Please, Ser Thrask, he won't go to the Circle on his own," the woman wept. "He's frightened! He's just a boy!"

"I am sorry, mistress," the templar said in the kindliest voice I have ever heard anyone in the Order use. "We will do all that we can for your son, but we cannot help him unless he turns himself in."

"I've looked everywhere for him!" she said.

"It would be better for him if he came forward of his own accord," he said. "Templars cannot tolerate apostates at large. He might find the transition easier to bear if he came to us rather than waiting for us to find him."

The woman broke down in tears.

"Maker be with you, Ariani," Ser Thrask bowed to her and went back up the stairs toward the Old City.

Still weeping, the woman turned and walked right into me.

"Oh! Forgive me, messere," she apologized.

"It's nothing," I mumbled... and then I looked at her face.

At this point, I must admit to myself that I have a weakness for elven eyes. I feel them on me and it is as if they see into my soul. If their owner demanded that I leap into the harbor, I would probably do it, even the woman's troubles did not engage my personal sympathies.

"Please, mistress," I said. "Is your son in trouble? Perhaps I can help."

"You heard all that and still, you would help?" she asked incredulously. I nodded.

"My name is Ariani," she went on. "My son Feynriel, my only family, has run away. He was born with magic. I could not bear the thought of losing him, so I hid him, hid his talents. But lately, when the dreams started, I knew that he needed help. I went to the Circle and told the First Enchanter of my fears for him. Feynriel considered it a betrayal and fled."

"His dreams?" I asked. "Usually, it's something more destructive that raises the alarm."

"He said that demons whispered to him in his sleep," she said. "Every night, they spoke to him. He was afraid to close his eyes for fear of what they would do to him."

"He is right to fear them," said Fenris, predictably.

"Do you have any idea where he may have gone?" I ignored Fenris. The woman was terrified already. Adding to her fears would not help.

"I wish I knew!" she moaned. "He did show an interest in my people a while ago, but I do not know if he would seek them out."

"Your people?" I asked, glancing once again at her faded tattoos. "You mean the Dalish? Aren't they Feynriel's people, too?"

"Feynriel is human," Ariani said. "I came to Kirkwall years ago for reasons of my own and tarried for a time with a human merchant, Vincento. My clan did not wish to be burdened with a human infant, so I remained here and raised him myself."

"Would he seek out his father, do you think?"

"I do not know what to think," she sighed. "I thought he might seek my clan, but he would have trouble leaving Kirkwall. Without a coin to his name, he might have gone to his father for help. Vincento has a booth in the Lowtown Bazaar."

"I will do everything I can to help your son," I assured her.

"I cannot thank you enough for your kindness," she gushed. "If you go to Ser Thrask in the Gallows, he might tell you where he has already looked. If you do find Feynriel, just take him somewhere safe. I'd rather lose him to the Circle than to the demons."

"I will begin my search this very moment," I assured her, to more thanks and hand-wringing... and glares from Fenris. It was unavoidable, really. Mage or not, no child should have to live in fear.

We found Vincento easily enough. His table of cheap "Antivan" weaponry was right where Ariani said it would be. My attempts at extracting information from the man came to naught, however. I could not tell if he was lying to me because he was ashamed of his elf-blooded child or because he was trying to protect Feynriel, but it soon became clear that I would get no information out of him.

Ser Thrask was much more cooperative. After assuring him that I had Feynriel's best interests at heart... and after Aveline threatened to order the guard to assist in the investigation... he admitted that a former colleague of his, Samson, sometimes assists young mages who seek to flee the Circle. More surprisingly, he did not sound as if he disapproved of this activity. Maybe templars like my brother's namesake are not completely a thing of the past. It is an encouraging thought.

Ser Thrask said that Samson often lingered near the stairs to the Undercity in Lowtown after dark, but he was unable to provide us with any information about where we could find him during the day. With nothing better to do, we went to the Hanged Man for an early dinner. Except for Aveline. She wanted to supervise the shift change, so she returned to Viscount's Keep. I dread the effect the tavern food will have on me, but I neglected to plan ahead. I should probably ask Anders if there is a permanent cure for my weak gut. With the expedition looming closer, I begin to worry about my fitness for the trip. Another time. For now, I should put the pencil away and go look for Samson.

9:31 Dragon, 27 Drakonis; Gamlen's house, Lowtown

Our party for the latter half of the evening was Anders, Carver, and Isabela. Varric was miserable with a head cold and Merrill's appearance with Carver drove Fenris away. He need not have bothered. Merrill visited with Isabela for a while and then went home while it was still light. We set off a short time later.

Samson was not what I anticipated. From Thrask's description of his activities, I expected less greed. It started well enough. I introduced myself, asked about Feynriel, and Samson said he was warned of my coming. He cheered my heart, at first, telling me how he liked to help the young mages because they were scared and alone, but my affection for him did not last long.

"Would have helped this Feynriel, too, had he the coin for it," said Samson.

"So you just turned him away?" I asked, stunned.

"Had to! Help one mage for free, that'll be the last coin I see."

"I pity any mage who looks to you as a protector!" Anders spat.

"Hey, now!" Samson protested. "I did what I can for him! I sent him on to a friend of mine who takes on runaways, Captain Reiner. He took on this Feynriel kid and a girl I sent him last week. Deal might have gone wrong, though. Heard rumors he's been seen talking to templars."

"Please, tell me it isn't too late to save him!" I entreated him.

"Listen, I told you all I know," he said. "You want more than that, you go talk to Reiner yourself. He berths off one of the quays in the Western Warehouse District."

"That's the Docks," Isabela supplied helpfully.

"Come on," I said. "Let's go!"

Isabela led the way as we poked among the warehouses looking for Reiner's ship. She did not know the captain personally, but that in itself would narrow down the list of candidates. As it happened, there were only two vessels there Isabela did not recognize, and unless Reiner was in the habit of lashing runaways to the deck of a timber barge, we had him cornered. Apart from the open ocean, there was only one way out of Atruris's Private Dock, through a warehouse of sorts, and we were standing in front of it.

"Do we need a plan, do you think?" I asked Carver, remembering his taunting about the dragon.

"We go in, we get the kid, we get out," Carver shrugged. "Hard to plan when we don't know what's on the other side of the door."

"True," I conceded. "Isabela, could you do what you're so good at?"

"Right here, in front of your brother?" she joked. "Kinky!"

"I meant the lock!"

"You're no fun," she chuckled. I have to admit that my brain did supply a rather distracting image at that particular moment. I wonder what she would do if I ever took her up on one of her lewd offers. It gave me something to think about while she fiddled with the lock. The door opened with the squeal of rusty hinges. I cursed softly. Stealth was now out of the question.

The fight that broke out as soon as we entered the main room put it even further out of mind. It was a short, frenzied battle, but it did not last long. The worst part was regrouping after the battle. The floor of the warehouse was seeded with traps. I stepped on one and singed my boot and pant leg, but once I got over the shock of having a fireball go off that close to my groin, I was fine. We found nothing on any of the bodies to suggest that our opponents were anything other than the sailors they appeared to be. If we were going to find any clues here, we needed to keep looking. We found our answers in a storeroom on the second floor. In a manner of speaking.

Four burly sailors were manhandling a girl toward the room's exit while a fifth looked on. She writhed and twisted while vainly trying to escape their grasp, but they were too many for her.

"Grab her hands!" one of her captors snapped. "She can't do no spells if she can't use her hands!"

The girl dropped to her knees, and when she rose, she had changed... just as Wilmod had changed.

"You fools know nothing of magic!" the demon inside her cried defiantly. Suddenly, the room was full of shades. For reasons I will never know, the abomination and the demons decided to attack us, along with her former captors. I could not fathom why they should do this. We were not involved. But that did not matter, if we were fighting for our lives. I heard Carver scream as a trap hidden beneath the floorboards tore into his leg. I called lightning down to stun the shades that were attacking him before I sent a quick healing spell his way to mend his leg.

This battle was no easy victory. The sailors went down easily but the man who led them did not. I threw spell after spell at him but they did not even slow him down. After a few moments of this, I left him to Carver's skill and focused instead on the shades that were attacking my brother while Anders and Isabela took on the abomination. It did not help that the abomination kept summoning more and more shades to replace the ones we killed. We did win, of course, but it took a long, long time. Anders collapsed just as the last crackle of electricity faded into silence.

"Head..." he groaned in response to my panicked queries about where he was hurt. I was already drained, thanks to the exhausting battle we just fought, but I put all that was left into the healing spell I gave him. It was enough.

"That's better," he said, catching me as I staggered. That last spell took a lot out of me. "I'll be fine now, Iain, thanks. Let's see if there's some clue about who that girl was."

We found a letter tucked into her belt. I read it. It was addressed to "Father" and it thanked him for all he had done to keep her away from the templars even as it begged his forgiveness for running away. She hoped that she would be able to write him with better news if she could just get out of Kirkwall.

"Poor girl," I sighed. "Can't this ever have a happy ending? And a father who won't ever know why she didn't come home. Is there nothing else to say who she was?"

"Look on the back of the letter," Carver said. I turned it over.

Ser Thrask. My heart sank further. No man deserves to have his daughter die before him, but to have her die like this?

"We'll have to tell him," I groaned. "The Gallows will be locked by now. It will have to wait until the morning. At least he'll have one good night's sleep before he finds out."

"Poor bastard," my brother agreed, his voice startlingly weak. I turned toward him only to see him crumple to the ground. It was then I saw the dark stain spreading across his midsection.

"Andraste's ass, Carver!" I cried, flying to his side, "Why didn't you say you were hurt?"

He tried to protest the severity of his injuries, but he did not have the strength.

"Anders –"

"Not him!" Carver interrupted. "You do it."

"Carver, I can't," I said, pressing my hands to the wound in a vain attempt at slowing the bleeding. "I've got nothing left and I didn't bring any lyrium. He's healed you before."

"He hasn't," he insisted, his voice fading even more. "Won't let anybody do it but you."

"It's true," Anders said softly. "He's never let me treat him."

He stood behind me and put his hands on my shoulders. I felt something teasing the edges of my awareness, a gentle... invasion, for lack of a better word. Between one heartbeat and the next, he was inside me, filling me with his presence. Even after he withdrew from my mind, a part of him remained, a sparkling pool of energy I could draw on as if it were my own. I absorbed it, channeled it through my body, and poured it into Carver as healing magic.

All three of us mutely watched Carver's wounds close. He got to his feet as Anders sank to the floor beside me. He rested against me, recovering his strength.

"That's better," said Carver, patting the site of his former injury. "You two alright?"

"I think so," I said. "Can you and Isabela search the rest of the bodies while we catch our breath?"

"Already on it," Isabela replied. My brother went over to join her.

"What did you do?" I asked Anders once they were away from us.

"I gave you some of my life force," he said, his voice softer than usual.

"Don't you need that to keep breathing?"

"It gets a bit risky if I give you too much, but I could spare a little. I shouldn't make a habit of it, though. You'd better talk to your brother about his trust issues."

"Oh, I will," I said firmly. "He'll hear all about it very soon, I promise you."

"I'm surprised you noticed what I was doing. I thought you'd just realize that you had more mana in reserve than you thought you did."

"No, I felt it. I always do, even if it's only a healing spell. Usually, it's a vague sensation, like someone is standing next to me and almost touching but not quite. This was different, though. It was as if your spirit was physically inside me."

"Really?" he sounded intrigued.

"Absolutely. I can even point to the spot I felt you enter my body. I wonder if this fits Isabela's definition of sex."

"Did you feel... all of me? Justice, too?"

"How would I know? I didn't know you before."

"True. Very interesting. You asked me some weeks ago whether I could tell if it was you in a darkened room. I can. It's part of my healing talent. Mostly, it enables me to sense injuries and overall health, but when I spend enough time with someone, I learn how that person's aura differs from another's. I'm reading your health and energy levels. If I perceived that you were running low, I could channel some of my own into you, like I did just now."

"Oh, that's a relief. I mean, I knew you could sense me, but I thought it was part of that spirit thing you don't like talking about."

"No, I could always do it, even before. Justice was never a healer. Is that the same as what you felt, just now?"

"No," I said carefully. "Or maybe yes. It's hard to explain."

"Can you try? You might be a healer, too, and I might be able to help you develop your talents."

"When you are using your abilities on me, I feel you doing it. I can sense what you are doing and where, but that's as far as it goes. I feel a reserve of power within you, but I can't project across the link the way you can. It's as if I can pull but not push, if that makes any sense."

"We'll have to work on it when –"

"Aw, look at the two of you, cuddled up on the floor," Isabela interjected. "Mind if I join you?"

Anders and I sat with our arms around each other while we spoke. At first, we did it to hold each other up while we recovered from our spell casting, but we maintained the contact because it allowed us to speak quietly without the others overhearing us. Now, we lurched away from each other, as if we had been caught kissing behind the barn.

"Did you find anything useful?" I asked, getting to my feet and reaching down to give Anders a hand up.

"Receipts from a slaver in Darktown," Carver informed me. "Looks like things didn't go well for your friend."

"Certainly looks that way," I agreed. "Any chance he'll still be there?"

"The note on the bottom says 'Payment pending delivery of the girl,'" he said. "If that's where they were taking her, he'll be there now."

"And he'll have coin on him, too," Isabela added.

"Are you up for this?" I asked Anders. I was still exhausted, but I could rely on my staff skills if I needed to. Anders never had a brother to spar with.

"I'm almost back to normal," he said. "I seem to bounce back faster than you do."

"Alright, let's go."

We found the slaver, Danzig, easily. He denied knowledge of Feynriel, an obvious lie. We traded threats for a while, but this was only ever going to end one way. After the fight with Olivia and the shades, battling Danzig and his hirelings was almost boring. I was still too tired to cast spells, but I did not really need to. The slaver's mercenaries' combat skills were as bad as their choice of employer. I worried that with Danzig dead, we whould have no way to find where he had taken Feynriel, but my fears proved groundless. Danzig was a man to keep records, it seemed.

"You've probably seen more of the coastline around here than the rest of us," I said to Isabela. "What do you make of this map?"

"It's the Wounded Coast," she said. "That peninsula is a southeast of here. Can't miss it. Now, are one of you going to heal this or am I going to have to have to go through the rest of my life with a scar on my boob?"

"Could you take care of that, Anders?" I asked. "I'm still pretty tapped out."

"That's no fun!" Isabela retorted. "I already know what he's like in bed."

"Healing isn't the same as sex, Isabela," Anders reminded her after he cast the necessary spell.

"I know that," she said, "but I like the touching. And I'm curious about the Hawke mystique."

"You could always take me home with you," Carver suggested hopefully. "Hawke mystique, front and center. I'm bigger than he is, anyway."

"Too easy!" Isabela snorted.

"I think we're done here," I interrupted. "It's already late, and it will be an early day tomorrow. I want to go to the Gallows before we go after Feynriel."

"It's still early!" she protested. "Come back to the Hanged Man with me. You know you want to."

"Sounds good," answered my brother, as if on cue.

"Thanks for the offer," I refused, "but I should get home. Are you going to the tavern, Anders, or should we walk you home?"

"Home, I think," said Anders. "I have some preparations to make if we're leaving early tomorrow. I want to explore what we talked about earlier, but it's a bit late for that now. We should set aside some time for it soon."

I did go back to the Hanged Man after escorting Anders back to his clinic. Varric was still sleeping off his head cold, but Carver and Isabela were content to drink in the common room. Fenris made an appearance shortly after midnight and joined them, but I was in no mood for carousing.

Apostates aplenty, today, I mused. Anders, the former Circle mage, carrying on with his research and dreaming of a better world despite the Fade spirit living inside his skull. Merrill, baffled by even the simplest aspects of city life. Olivia, doomed to death because her templar father could not teach her to defend herself without resorting to demons. And Feynriel, lost and alone. It must be possible to live without the Circle. It is possible. I have... with the help of my father and brother. If the apostates I encountered today are representative of the rest of Thedas, it is no wonder that Circle prisons exist. Mages should be free. Mages will be free, one day. But first, they must learn to survive.

What a pity it is that apprenticeship at the Circle is not like apprenticeship at a trade. The world would be a better place if young mages were trained to use their talents the way blacksmiths are, or alchemists. The education of the latter two prepares them to make their own way in the world. It does not lock them away from it. And people see them working and living and do not fear them, despite the fact that swords and poison kill more innocents than magic ever did. But then, people understand what blacksmiths and alchemists do. There is no fear of the unknown to contend with. Perhaps ignorance is our most terrible enemy, after all.


	29. Chapter 29: Sons

_AN__: __I __apologize __for __the __lengthy __gap __between __chapters__. I __allowed __myself __to __become __distracted __by __an __original __fiction __piece __that __seemed __pressing (and might potentially earn me money, if I ever finish it) __and __a __real__-__life __event __that __really __was urgent, in more ways than I like to remember__. __In __the __end__, __your __encouragement __inspired __me __to __return __to __this__. __I __hope __it __isn__'__t __too __little__, __too __late__._

_As __always__, __everyone __but __Iain __belongs __to __BioWare__. __I __just __write __when __I __can __and __fail __at __clever __sayings__._

* * *

><p>9:31 Guardian, 28 Drakonis: a campsite, the Wounded Coast<p>

The delays began the moment I awoke. The kitten upset the salt box on a mad tear around the kitchen, sending it splashing into the beer barrel Gamlen was opening at the time. Both the beer and the salt were ruined, and my uncle flew into a rage at the expense. I was able to calm him down, but it took time and half a sovereign. Mother protested the sum, saying that I should not have to pay to replace salt I had purchased myself, especially not at ten times its worth, but I patted her hand and told her that it did not matter, that we had taken good coin off the slavers we killed the night before. I should have used any other argument. What was I thinking, Mother demanded, leading my brother into that kind of danger? Did I intend to rob her of all her children?

A more diplomatic man would have invented a less inflammatory excuse for having ready coin. A cleverer man would have praised Carver's prowess and made light of the danger. A better man would have refrained from reminding Mother that she had borne three children, not two. My frustration got the better of me, however, and I proved myself lacking in tact, cunning, and worth.

Mother's anxiety over Carver did not make my leave-taking easier. He had not yet returned home from his carouse. I considered telling her the truth. I hoped that she would understand why I wanted to save Feynriel from both slavers and the Circle, but I did not want to risk another scene. I told her that Anders needed some rare root or other that grew only along the Wounded Coast and let it go at that. Maker forgive my many failings.

At last, Peaches and I set out for the Hanged Man. Norah greeted me as warmly as ever but Corff snorted when he saw me and shared a few words with a nearby patron that ended in laughter on both sides.

"What was that about?" I asked Norah, my ears flaming.

"It... isn't about you," Norah said, fondling Peaches's ears and not meeting my gaze. Her cheeks looked pinker than usual.

"Not about me? Someone connected with me, then. My brother?"

She nodded.

"Norah, I'm sorry," I said. "You know what he's like when he gets a few ales in him."

"And he had more than a few in him last night, that's for sure," Norah said.

"I am sorry if he made you uncomfortable. Neither one of us has a head for alcohol. I know that doesn't excuse his behavior, but it does explain it. The drink lowers his inhibitions and he says things he wouldn't say sober."

"I wish it was only just talk," Norah said, serving a drink to a patron and getting his change wrong. I held out my hand to the reluctant customer to collect the extra coins she had given him and put them on her tray.

"What did he do?" I asked. I kept my voice low, trying to coax her confidence with gentleness, but my temper was rising. I would have liked to have thought my brother incapable of forcing himself on a woman, but I worried that the sting of Isabela's repeated rejection might have touched a nerve. I remembered how I had behaved after Anders rejected me and prayed that Carver had not attempted to force Norah into becoming his Adriano.

"To me? Nothing!" Norah said, her eyes widening as she realized what I was asking her. "But... look, Corff is giving me the hairy eyeball. Meet me in the storeroom in an hour?"

"I'll talk to Corff," I said. "I've caused you enough trouble."

"You haven't! I'm sorry, Serah Hawke. I... would like to talk to you, but I can't right now. Meet me in an hour?"

"I can't," I said. "We have urgent business outside the city. Whatever my brother did, I will make good on it, I promise."

"Varric took care of it," Norah said. "You will come back, won't you? Once your business is done?"

"Of course," I said. "But Corff needs you, and I must go."

I bowed farewell and made my way back to Varric's room, Peaches's claws tapping on the wooden floor. Anders was already there, glaring at Carver while the latter vomited into a bucket.

"Disgusting, isn't it?" Anders said. "He won't let me do a thing for him."

"No magic," Carver groaned, heaving.

"Nobody ever died of a hangover," Varric said philosophically. "But this little slumber party is over, Junior. Time for you to scamper home. Or crawl. Your call."

A breeze stirred the hair on the back of my neck and I jumped.

"Be easy, Hawke," said Fenris. "It looks as if I missed all the fun."

"The broody elf left not long after you and Blondie," Varric said. "You missed a show, alright."

"What happened?" I asked. "Norah said that Carver did something, but she didn't say what."

"Junior's been doing pell practice on Tom," Varric said. "You remember the wooden upside-down man that used to hang outside the tavern."

"I 'remember'? 'Used to hang'? Oh, dear."

"It's nothing forty silver won't fix," Varric said, stuffing some bedding in his pack. "Of course, Corff wanted five times that amount."

Peaches sniffed the bucket tentatively and retreated whimpering from the smell of whiskey and bile that rose from it.

"What do I owe you?" I asked.

"Two sovereigns," Varric said. "And if Junior wants to drink in here again, he needs to turn in his weapons. Unless you're with him."

"Drop dead, dwarf," Carver said, wiping his chin.

"I didn't make the rule, Little Hawke. It's no use whining to me."

"Some gratitude might be in order," I said. "From the sound of things, Varric's the only reason you're allowed in here at all after last night."

"Ordinarily, you'd be right," Varric said with no modesty, "but in this case, the thanks go to Norah."

"I can't help it if she's sweet on me," Carver said.

"Sweet on your brother, you mean," Fenris corrected him. My jaw dropped and swung freely.

"It's an innocent infatuation, I'm sure," Anders said. "As long as you act as you always have, it will pass in time."

"And I want this?" I asked, my eyes still glazed.

"We'll talk later," Anders said.

"Why bother?" said Fenris. "Surely you've been chased by enough poker-wielding humans for one lifetime."

"It doesn't always have to end that way," I sulked, but I knew they were right. Macha's rejection is still vivid in my mind, and I like Norah. I could not bear to have her look at me the way Macha did. And it was no time for romance. "In any event, we have to leave. Carver, you do not look fit for travel."

"Give me some time to pull myself together," he said blearily. He retched again, but he had nothing left to throw up.

"Time is the one thing we do not have," I said. "Let Anders heal you or stay home. Those are your choices."

"Right. See you in a few days."

"Where's Isabela?" I asked.

"She ran into an old friend," Varric said. "Knock on her door if you like. I'm sure they'll be only too happy to have you join them."

"Let's just go," I sighed. "Every hour that passes puts Feynriel that much further into danger. We really must leave at once. Do you think you can find the place, Varric? We all know what will happen if you trust me with the map."

"Not a problem," Varric said. "Lock up when you leave, Junior."

Our late start ensured that we reached the coast during the hottest part of the day. We sweated into our clothes and marched on. Peaches drank most of the water I brought for myself, but I was not worried. The slavers who held Feynriel needed to water to live just as we did. Their camp would be near some kind of well or spring. The fear of dehydration was further diminished when the Qunari who attacked us as we traveled provided us with several full waterskins as well as trinkets and silver. Fenris informed me that the Qun was a religion, not a race, and that our attackers were Tal-Vashoth outcasts, no true Qunari, but the distinction meant little to me. They were big, bronze-skinned warriors who wanted to kill us. That was as close as our acquaintance became.

"What's the plan?" Varric asked as we neared a rocky outcropping along a southern trail.

"Are we there already?" Fenris asked. "No tour of the Planasene Forest?"

"You weren't there when we went to Sundermount, were you?" Varric asked conversationally. "I thought it was Junior's turn to complain that day."

"Ah, this would be the dwarven sense of humor," Fenris said. "But your question is a good one. Or were you planning to walk in and demand the release of all mages?"

"That works," Anders said.

"We'll see," I said. "They're in the cavern, I take it? We'll have to go slow and see what we find. We aren't likely to get out of there without a fight."

Peaches wagged his tail.

"Bloodthirsty today, are we?" I laughed. "Let's go in and see if we've got the right address."

We did. We encountered small, well-equipped groups of slavers on the way in, but the bulk of the host made their camp in the central cavern. There were a lot of them, over twenty. We might have stood a chance had we been able to remain undetected, but an ill-timed growl from Peaches put an end to that notion. We were halfway across the cavern when we were discovered.

"Come one step closer and the boy dies!" a beefy red-haired slaver called out to us. He stood on a scaffolding overhead, his sword mere inches from the neck of a slim, blond-haired boy with decidedly elven features.

My gaze fell on Varric. Varric, who could talk an Orlesian out of his last sliver of cheese. I drew myself up to my full height, such as it is, and puffed out what remained of my chest after a year of poor eating and inadequate exercise.

"Tell this scum who we are," I said in my best imitation of Carver's swagger.

"This, my malodorous friend, is Serah Hawke, the Viscount's personal friend and confidant," Varric said imperiously.

"And that," he continued, pointing at the boy, "is more trouble than you can imagine. Now why, do you think, would the viscount send his cherished friend into this remote, Maker-forsaken corner of the Free Marches? That's where the trouble comes in. You never asked yourself where your supplier got mage flesh so cheap? You never wondered what your sources weren't telling you?"

The slaver's confused expression announced that he had never wondered these things.

"You're no native of the Free Marches," Varric said. "You wouldn't be expected to recognize the viscount's illegitimate son, the love-child of his beloved elven mistress. You wouldn't be expected to have heard of the oaths he swore to protect his child, even if it meant razing the Free Marches to reclaim him."

"We want no war with the viscount!" the slaver said, his eyes wide and his sword point wavering. "Take the boy and go."

I thought about it. I _wanted_ to kill the slavers. I _needed_ to save Feynriel. My eyes measured the distance to the slaver and estimated the gap between his sword and Feynriel's throat. Compassion won out over justice. If I failed to save Ariani's son, she would find no comfort in the gift of a slaver's head.

"Your offer is acceptable," I said. The sword lowered. He tossed me a pouch of coin.

"Take this," he said. "The gold that was promised for the boy. Take it as an offer of peace."

He kicked over the lamp in parting. The cavern was plunged into darkness. Varric lit a torch, but by then, the slavers were gone. Fenris lit another and the boy climbed down the scaffolding and made a few hesitant steps toward us.

"Did the templars send you?" he asked.

"Your mother," I said.

"Same thing," he snorted. "All my life, it's been 'I'll protect you.' A few bad dreams and it's 'Off to the templars!'"

"I'm trying to help you!" I entreated him.

"Help me? You don't even know me!"

"I do know you," I said, holding out my hand and conjuring clear blue flame on my palm. "I am you."

He stared at the flame, then at my face.

"You're a mage?" he asked. "I've never met one before. They're all locked up like criminals."

"Most are criminals," Fenris said under his breath. I silenced him with a glare.

"If you do want to help me..." Feynriel began. "Have you ever heard of the Dalish? Would you help me to go to them? I'm as much Dalish as human. They'd have to take me in."

"You'd find few friends there," I said. "Your human blood would mark you as an outsider."

"I'd rather be an outsider than a prisoner," he said to my complete understanding and agreement. "Or worse, Tranquil. You look Fereldan. I've heard it's different there, but here, do one thing the templars don't like and you get the brand. I can't live with that hanging over my head."

"It's your decision, Feynriel," I said. "Your life is your own and I will help you, whatever you decide."

"The Dalish have had magic forever," he said. "They'll help me."

"They'll also train him and keep him safe from demons," Anders said. "And nobody gets locked up. Everybody wins."

"Because no Dalish ever behaved irresponsibly," Fenris muttered darkly.

"You deserve freedom," I said. "Come, gather your things, if you have any. Sundermount is a long way away, but we know the path... or Varric does."

"You..." he blinked at me as if he had never seen a human before. "Thank you. I would never have dreamed such a future was possible."

"It will mean hard work for you," I said. "Starting now. Help me go through these crates. They must have left something edible behind."

"You aren't the viscount's personal friend?" Feynriel said with a grin.

We laughed and began our search. By the time we found all there was to find, it was evening and too late to venture further. We decided not to sleep in the slaver's camp, a prudent decision, as it turned out. The cave proved to be inhabited by spiders. The slavers' number had kept them at bay but there were only five of us. They swarmed us as we made our way toward the surface. We dispatched them easily, but it left quite an impression on Feynriel.

"You... you fight these things?" he stammered.

"It beats lying down and dying," Varric said.

"I meant that you fight them with magic," he said, staring at Anders and me.

"As Varric said," I smiled. "You'll learn, Feynriel. The Keeper will help you develop your talents, whatever they may happen to be."

"I don't think I'll ever be able to do what you just did," he said. "You froze the thing solid."

"Maybe you will," I shrugged, "or maybe your talents lie in another direction. I can cast a few spells my friend here can't, but he's a better healer than I'll ever be. The Maker gave us our gifts according to His will, not our desires."

"That's the truth!" Feynriel said bitterly. "I never asked for any of this."

"None of us did," I said. "My sister wished for a normal life more than anything else in the world."

"And let me guess, in time, she came to realize that her abilities were a sign of the Maker's favor?"

"She was killed in our escape from the Blight," I said.

"I... I'm sorry," Feynriel said, looking away.

"You could not have known," I said shakily. An odd trembling had begun in the back of my throat. My eyes burned and my windpipe felt too big for my neck. Emotion threatened to overwhelm me. I tried to hold it back. Only yesterday, I told Anders that I had never wept for my father or my sister. I intended the statement as an illustration of how isolated I felt from my emotions. I wished that I had kept it up. I rose and walked away from Feynriel and Anders. Sitting there like that, three mages who had lost everything but the "gift" that forced us to live apart from the rest of humanity, it was too easy to give in to despair, to believe as the Chantry would have us believe, but I refused. No matter how much I hurt or how much I lose, I will never agree that magic is to blame... though I cannot say who is. Perhaps Anders is right. Maybe some things are nobody's fault.

"I don't think it was anything you said," I overheard Anders say. "He's been through a lot since the Blight, and it's been hitting him pretty hard."

Whatever he said next was lost in the soft crunch of footsteps behind me.

"Do you think you're helping him?" Fenris asked quietly.

"Yes," I replied.

"You're wrong."

"Time will tell."

"You're gambling with innocent lives," Fenris said.

"On both sides. The first life we wager our own."

"You're hardly an innocent."

"Because I'm a mage?"

"Because the decisions you make affect peoples' lives. Feynriel is set loose upon the world because you will it. If he runs mad and slaughters a village, their deaths will be on your head."

"Someone else's death will have to get off to make room," I said.

Tears threatened once more - tears of angry, bitter frustration rather than grief - but I would not give in to them. Fenris needed to see that I was strong enough to bear responsibility for the lives in my care. Regardless of what I felt, I was not about to betray my weakness by showing him emotion instead.

Fenris made no reply. He simply looked at me with his beautiful, liquid eyes, a wry smile on his lips. I wanted to kiss him. I wanted to prove to him that I was man enough to take what the world threw at me, but I held back. Desire was there - or its uglier cousin - but it was not love. Had I surrendered at that moment, I would only have proved that mages were no better than animals who deserved the cage the templars thrust them into.

Someone cleared his throat behind me.

"Varric asked me to tell you that dinner is ready," Feynriel said. "Are you alright?"

"I will be once I've had something to eat," I said.

As it happened, I was wrong. The slavers had left their provisions in their haste to escape and Varric had made a stew from the salted meat, but it was greasy and indigestible, exactly the wrong kind of meal to feed my turbulent temper.

"Is there anything I can do?" Anders asked after I returned from a particularly lengthy trip into the bushes.

"Have a look," I said, lying back upon my elbows and unfastening my belt.

Warm hands touched my belly. I closed my eyes and drifted, savoring the closeness that accompanied his touch. Persistent discomfort prevented me from enjoying the contact as much as I usually did, but the relief of lying back and placing the care of my person in somebody else's hands almost made up for the loss of intimacy.

"There doesn't seem to be anything wrong with you," he said as a large gas bubble passed noisily through my gut. "Apart from anxiety, that is. Stress has tied your bowels in knots, figuratively speaking. I'd ease it if I could, but we don't dare risk it. Not with the Tal-Vashoth prowling the coast."

"What would you do?" I asked, adjusting my clothing and buckling my belt more loosely than it was before. "You cannot give me a new life."

"If we were home, I'd give you a hot bath, a massage, and several chapters of Fereldan history to calm your nerves."

"I will look forward to it on our return," I said contentedly, closing my eyes again. "For the present, I'll settle for the anticipation. Even the thought is soothing."

"It's for your health," he said. I could hear the smile in his voice. Not for the first time, I wished we were alone together, but if we were, my gut would not be unsettled and I would have no need of his attention.

"I wouldn't mind a hot bath myself," Varric said. "You can keep your hands to yourself, though. No offense, but Bianca's the jealous type."

"At least the slavers left wine," Fenris said. "Which makes sense, considering they were Tevinter."

"Who else would take slaves in the Free Marches?" I asked.

"Antivans do not scruple against trading in flesh," Fenris snorted. "And your own countrymen will stoop to it, if the price was right."

"No Fereldan would ever condone slavery!" I retorted, sitting up and turning to face him.

"No? You give your countrymen too much credit."

I drew breath to make some angry reply, but Anders stopped me with a hand on my knee.

"As long as there's a Circle, slavery will exist in Ferelden," he said.

"Circle mages are not slaves!" Fenris spat.

"Only because no coin changes hands," Anders said. "If you ask the Chantry, they own every mage by divine right."

"Telling someone where they must live is not slavery."

"Locking them in a tower and throwing away the key, treating them like chattel, subjecting them to rape and torture on a whim with no fear of reprisal, forbidding even the most basic human liberty of finding happiness with another person... How is this life better than a slave's?"

Fenris held out his arms palms upward. The veins of lyrium in his skin glinted in the firelight.

"No mage ever had to endure this," he said.

"When a mage displeases his master, he gets a different kind of brand," Anders said. "One that robs him of his magic, his emotion, any hope of a future. That paint of yours may have taken your memory, but you have not lost the power to feel, to dream. Even as a slave, your heart was free. The Circle rips even that away."

"To prevent the weak from becoming vessels for demons. As you have done."

"That's enough!" I interrupted. "I will not have you two bickering over who has had the harder life. I believe, based on my own experience, that a mage does not need the Circle to learn the responsible use of his powers. Feynriel will train with the Keeper and we will go home, where I pray the subject will never be raised again."

"Good luck with that," Varric said, but I was in no condition to reply. Their argument precipitated another bout of intestinal cramps and I was forced to make another frantic waddle into the bushes.

"Your vitriol is bad for his health," I heard Anders say between spasms.

"Your obstinacy is worse," Fenris retorted.

"You're both making him sick," Varric said. "I can sympathize. Haven't you got anything better to do?"

They had, apparently. The camp was quiet when I returned. Feynriel was waiting for me.

"Does that happen often?" he asked.

"Which? My weak gut or their fighting? Not that it matters. The answer to either is 'yes'."

"Why does he hate us?" he asked softly, looking at Fenris.

"He lived his whole life in Tevinter," I said. "Mages rule there, and use magic to enslave the weak. He has suffered much at their hands."

"And what? He wants to return the favor?"

"Against the master who enslaved him, yes. I will help him, if I can. Unfortunately, he has a hard time understanding that all mages are not like his former master. Even in Tevinter, I doubt all are that bad, but I'll never convince him of that without proof."

I looked into his eyes. They were as brilliant as those of his mother's kin, a deep cornflower blue. I saw insecurity there, and fear, but also faith. Whether I deserved it or not, Feynriel believed that I would save him. I longed to be worthy of that trust.

"They made it sound like you didn't grow up in a Circle," he said after a few moments.

"I didn't," I said. "My father was a mage. He escaped from the Kirkwall Circle and fled to Ferelden with my mother before I was born."

"And your sister was a mage, too, you said. You had a lot of magic in your family."

"Yes. I have a brother, too, but he didn't inherit the gift. He resented the closeness my sister and I had with our father. That's why he hates magic, I think. Jealousy."

"I can understand that. I can't imagine how it must have been, growing up surrounded by people who loved you and accepted you as you were."

"You did. Your mother did not reject you or throw you to the templars the way Anders's father did. It's just that as your talents developed, she no longer had the means to protect you. She entrusted me to find someone who could help you."

"I don't understand," Feynriel said. "My mother protected me my whole life, up until now. What changed?"

"From what I've been able to gather from my parents, the ability to cast spells usually manifests during early childhood, although not always. I set my brother's pants on fire when I was four years old, but Anders burned down a barn when he was twelve, so it can show up later. Since my father was a mage himself, he knew that he could train my sister and me in secret. My sister had better control over her abilities than I did so she was allowed to mix more with the village children. I had this habit of using spells when my emotions got the better of me, so I was kept home most of the time. Anyway, as a child, my powers were minor. I could shoot sparks from my fingers or make ice crystals form in the lake to amuse my siblings, but I couldn't really hurt anybody. When my body started changing, at about the age you are now, my abilities changed, too. I gained an adult's powers; I could have killed someone if I wanted to."

"So, that's what's happening to me?" he asked. "I'm growing into the powers I'll have as an adult?"

"I think so, yes. I didn't have to go to the Circle. My father was there to help me cope with the changes I was going through and teach me restraint. Your mother is not a mage. She can't help you the way my father helped me, so we have to take you to someone who can. Maybe now you understand how difficult it was for your mother to give you up. You were her sole comfort in the alienage, but she knew that you needed more than she could provide."

"You make me feel guilty for running away."

"Maybe it was for the best," I said. "If you had stayed in Kirkwall, you would have gone to the Circle. From what I've seen, you'll be better off with the Dalish. You'll be lonely, but you'll live. Once you have mastered your powers, you'll be able to make your own way in the world, and make as many friends as you please. You just have to be patient. Not everyone can accept people like us."

"So I see," he said. "Mother and I are both lucky she picked you to come after me. I don't know how I'll ever be able to thank you, for the rescue or for the advice. Just knowing that I'm not alone, that I'm not the only person who has ever felt like this..."

I could not meet his eyes after that. How could I explain to him that he would always be alone? That wherever he went, people would always know he was different and believe him unworthy of love? Maybe he would be one of the lucky ones, like my father. Maybe some Dalish girl would fall in love with his sensitive eyes and comparatively broad shoulders and show him the secrets of her heart. The Dalish did not fear magic. The Dalish saw no need to throw stew at those who possessed it or tell their fathers that their rejected suitors attempted rape.

"Are you alright?" Feynriel asked.

"I was thinking of someone I know," I said. "You'd better try to rest now. Varric tells me that Sundermount is a long, long way away so we'll need to make an early start of it. Take my blanket. I have no plans to sleep quite yet and if I get cold, I can always curl up with Peaches."

"If you're sick, maybe you should get some sleep."

"No, I don't think I'm done rejecting dinner yet. I think I'll watch the tide come in."

I waved farewell to the others and made my way down to the water line, my mabari at my heels. We sat in the sand above the surf and watched the waves in their intermittent advance up the beach. A bright moon shone on the water. The spray stung my cheeks; I was alone with my thoughts. Peaches put his head on my knee.

I felt rather than saw Anders sit beside me. The heat of his body warmed me. I had not realized that I had become chilled.

"Savoring our victory?" he asked at length.

"In a way," I said. "I was thinking of my father. Would he have counseled Feynriel as I did? Would he have approved?"

"Your father would have been proud of you."

"I lied to him, Anders. I led him to believe that he would find acceptance one day. I didn't have the heart to tell him he'll always be alone."

"You don't know that. You don't know that you will always be alone, either."

"Talking to Feynriel just now - you were too far away to hear - I felt like my father. I talked to him because I cared about him. I wanted him to be happy, even if it meant leading him to hope for something that may not exist."

"Practicing what you'll say to your own children?"

"I'll never have children, Anders. You know it's impossible."

"I wouldn't say that. There doesn't seem to be anything physically wrong with you."

"Morally impossible. You said yourself that it would be wrong for me to involve myself with anyone."

"I cautioned you against pursuing a relationship with Norah because she isn't your equal. She worships you."

"What?"

"You need someone who will love you as a partner, the second half of their own self. Someone who is capable of sharing your dreams. Norah is a sweet girl, and I don't think she would think any less of you if she knew what you are, but she wants a simple life. She wants a man who will work all day and come home to eat dinner and make love to his wife. You believe in things. You have purpose and vision. She will never understand you, and she would blame herself for her inability to make you happy. That's why you're better off letting her get on with her infatuation and get over it on her own. If it gives you any comfort, you are as good a man as she thinks you are, but that's a good deal more than she wants."

"You could not know what she wants from a man. Or maybe you _do_ know. Is she another of your former lovers?"

"I haven't been with anyone since Isabela, if you must know the truth. The first time I left the Wardens, I went to Denerim and did a lot of things I'm ashamed of. I missed your cousin, so I went back to Amaranthine. No, we were not lovers. We were friends, and I thought she understood me. Maybe she did. In the end, it did not matter. Duty often called her away from the Keep and she was unable to protect me from the templars any longer. Things happened. I won't tell you what. Suffice it to say that Justice and I became one and I fled to Kirkwall. I've been alone ever since, except for Justice. And you."

The last two words hung in the air like frozen spray.

"Is that why you don't want me to pursue Norah? Because you don't want to lose me as a friend?"

"No, Iain. I would sacrifice even our friendship if I thought that you and Norah would be happy together. I meant what I said a moment ago. You would make each other miserable and you would both grieve over it. You need someone who can share your dreams."

"And what if I don't need someone who shares my dreams? Maybe I just want to find someone who will make a man of me."

"From the sound of things, someone already has," Anders said. "You are certainly no child. You saved your family from the Blight. You have been looking after them ever since. You rescued Feynriel and gave him advice he will cherish until the end of his days. Every street thug in Kirkwall knows that Iain Hawke is not a man to cross. Finding an orifice for your staff will not confer benefits of adulthood you do not already enjoy."

"I'm lonely," I said. I wanted him to hold me. If he had, I would have kissed him, let the cards fall where they would.

"And you want someone to coddle you as if you were a child," he said. He stood up; a small gold coin fell to the ground between my knees. I picked it up.

"It seems that only one thing will convince you of your manliness," he said. "If that's what you need, fine, but don't make a decent woman suffer for your vanity. You can buy validation for half a sovereign at the Blooming Rose. I don't want to hear about it."

His boots crunched quietly in the sand as he walked away; I let him go. I raised the coin to throw it into the Waking Sea, but I pocketed it instead. Anders could not afford to throw money away, even if it suited my pride.

Peaches sat up and head-butted my arm. I embraced him, buried my face in the fur of his shoulder, and wept. Anders was right. I did not need to experience an orgasm inside someone else's body to believe in my own virility. I did not crave recognition of my maturity. I wanted someone to love me and be tender toward me. I wanted to expose my vulnerability to another person and have them protect me. I did not want sex, I wanted love, and I would not find that at the Blooming Rose... or with Norah. Anders was right about her, too. I wanted her, and I was thrilled to learn that she wanted me, but I wanted to share everything, every part of who and what I am, and there are parts of both that Norah will never understand. At least I may remember her as the only woman who ever desired me for myself. I will always think of her fondly.

Night sounds rose from the camp behind me. Fenris asked Anders if I was well. He lied and said that I was. Varric and Fenris worked out a watch schedule between them, not trusting human eyes in the dark despite the bright moonlight that has allowed me to write with no other illumination. Feynriel muttered in his sleep. In time, Peaches's snores made a gentle counterpoint to the pounding surf.

In time, my thoughts returned to my family. I thought about Bethany, who died without learning what it was to be kissed. Her life was no less precious because she never had another to share it. Had she ever mourned the fact that she had no one but her brothers for company? She never said so to me. I thought about Carver. Even before we left Lothering, his reputation was impressive. He had coupled with more of the village girls than I even knew by name, and several still write to him, begging him to return to their hearths and to their beds. Did his popularity prevent him from setting himself up as a rival to his virginal brother? Did he think he was a better man than me because more than one woman had raked her nails across his back?

It is time for me to return to the others. I have moped long enough, and I have not the liberty of forgoing sleep. Like it or not, I am a mage. I must rest to restore my mana, and I must do so to protect the charges in my care.

Feynriel never knew his father. The bastard left him before he was born. My father would have served him better, teaching him that magic not a curse but a tool, a weapon one might use to protect one's own. I stand in my father's stead. I will be the man he wanted me to be.


	30. Chapter 30: The Provider

_AN: I "met" Spidercat when I was developing the Casavir flirt pack. I would have liked to have known her better. She was a beautiful human being and she will be missed. A chapter of a fic is a poor tribute to her memory, but it's all I have to give. I write with great sadness at her passing and rage at the heavens for inflicting the evil of cancer upon the world._

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><p>9:31 Dragon, 29 Drakonis: the Dalish Encampment, Sundermount<p>

In the future, I must remind myself to bring an extra blanket on excursions that take us outside Kirkwall. I awoke soaked with dew, stiff-jointed, and chilled to the bone. Fortunately, the morning was warm, and by midday, we were all perspiring freely from the steady climb into the hills. Varric said that we would not reach the Dalish camp until nightfall.

"What's next on your agenda?" Fenris asked as we made our way along the path. "You rarely have only one person clamoring for salvation."

"After we see Feynriel settled?" I replied. "I thought I'd finish that favor for Javaris. It feels like months since I promised to go after those Tal-Vashoth for him. Maybe it was."

"You do plan to go back to Kirkwall first, I hope?" Anders asked. "I need to return to care for my patients, and you need a rest before you subject yourself to another journey."

"For a day or two, perhaps, but I'd like to start putting my affairs in order," I said. "I'm hoping to have enough saved for the expedition by Summerday."

"You aren't giving me much time to cure you," Anders said. "At this rate, I'm not sure you'll survive several weeks in the Deep Roads."

"I thought you said there was nothing physically wrong with me."

"Nothing I can cure with magic. Give me a month to help you recuperate."

"How long do we have before your brother leaves without us?" I called ahead to Varric.

"Bartrand isn't going anywhere without those fifty sovereigns," Varric replied, falling back to walk beside us. "He gets more irritable every day, but if he had the means to launch the expedition without us, he would have done it already."

"Anders wants me to rest up for a month before we earn those last seven sovereigns," I said.

"I don't know," Varric shook his head. "On the one hand, the darkspawn aren't playing diamondback while we're up here running errands. On the other, all the gold in the Deep Roads won't help you if you die before you reach the surface. I thought you said you used to be a farmer. Aren't they usually hardier?"

"I feel fine," I said. "I just have to watch what I eat -"

"Which you can't do in the Deep Roads," Anders said.

"And I used to get a lot more exercise," I added. "Different kinds of exercise. Less walking, more lifting sacks of grain and splitting firewood. Maybe if we do spend a week or two in Kirkwall, I'll help Merrill fix her house. Honest work in the open air is all I need."

"Honest work?" Varric snorted. "In Kirkwall? Better you than me."

"I want to know where he's going to find the open air!" Anders said. "After a lifetime in the Alienage breathing air he can chew, Feynriel is going to find Sundermount a big change."

"I'm looking forward to the scent of pine trees," I said.

"Enjoy it while you can," Anders said. "It will be nothing but earth, mold, and corruption in the Deep Roads."

We reached the Dalish outskirts just as the sun disappeared over the western hills. The sentries recognized me and greeted me with more courtesy than I expected, given my earlier experience with them. They admitted us to their camp with barely an insult among them. When they led us to the Keeper, Marethari welcomed us warmly.

I worried that the Keeper would reject Feynriel. Ariani had said that she raised him in the Alienage because he was unwelcome among her people. Either her memory was faulty or her people had changed. Marethari examined him closely, looking deeply into his eyes, and proclaimed him a true son of the tribe. I breathed a heartfelt sigh of relief and bid him a hopeful farewell before he was led away to rest and recover from his ordeal. We, meanwhile, were offered provisions and a safe place to camp until morning. For the first time in many weeks, I enjoyed a meal that left me feeling fit and contented. My gratitude was profound.

As I write, Anders is in consultation with the Keeper about my condition. He makes too much of it, I think, but I am interested to hear if the Dalish have discovered a remedy for a sensitive stomach. Not that they would need one, living as simply as they do. A few days up here breathing the clean air and eating wholesome food would do me more good than all the potions and elixirs of the herbalist's art. Which reminds me: Solitivus needs ironbark. I will speak with Craftmaster Ilen in the morning.

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><p>9:31 Dragon, 30 Drakonis: Gamlen's hovel, Lowtown<p>

Ironbark is rare in these northern lands, Master Ilen said, but he did know where some could be found. Getting him to reveal the location was no simple matter, but the judicious application of flattery helped. We would pass the site on our way home, and we were welcome to fight the darkspawn in the area that had kept their hunters at bay if we wanted the ironbark.

"Darkspawn!" I remarked to Fenris once we were past the scouts on the perimeter of the encampment. "Imagine that!"

"Make light of the danger if you wish," Fenris said. "I have seen enough of your blood to know that you do not have ice in your veins."

"You have never fought them, have you?" I asked. "Sometimes, I forget that I haven't seen any since we fled the Blight. Ogres are enough to make anybody piss himself, but hurlocks should give us no trouble. They die like any other thing that bleeds."

"I'm not afraid of them," Fenris said defensively.

"You should be," Anders said. "They're... terrifying. Their laugh..."

"Consider it practice for the Deep Roads," Varric said. "We'll find plenty of them there."

"I want to know what they're doing _here_," I said. "How would they cross the Waking Sea? They don't seem the type to try sailing."

"Remember those Deep Road entrances on the map?" Anders asked.

"Look who you're talking to, Blondie," Varric chuckled. "You said the word 'map'."

"Point taken," he said with something that sounded like affection. "The darkspawn Master Ilen spoke of were never in Ferelden. They came up from the Deep Roads right here in the Free Marches."

"So I guess fleeing northward really was kind of pointless," I said.

"Hardly!" Varric said. "Unless you like the idea of shoveling manure for the rest of your life."

"Isn't that what you do for a living?" I joked.

"Pretty much," Varric shrugged. "By the way, what do darkspawn look like?"

"The ones I saw had pale, skull-like heads," I said. "Why?"

"Duck!" cried Varric.

A crossbow bolt whistled past my ear. I spun in place to face the corpse of the first hurlock I had seen in over a year. Fenris approached to stand over it; he prodded it with his foot.

"Terrifying, mage?" he sneered. Anders ignored him.

"Get ready," I warned them. "There's never just one."

I hate being right. The ensuing battle was a long, sprawling thing. They came at us in clusters, which was fortunate. Had the come at us all at once, we would have been overwhelmed and destroyed, but disorganized as they were, they were easily routed. Fenris let out a gratifying squeal of fear when he saw his first ogre, but he acquitted himself well against it. It was that or die. Injuries on our side were light and mostly self-inflicted. Varric somehow pinched his hand in Bianca's action, which he referred to fondly as a love-bite. Anders stepped in a rabbit-hole and twisted his ankle, and I managed to break my nose again when I carelessly walked into Fenris's backhand. Of all of our bumps and scrapes, the most serious injury - and the only one caused by darkspawn - was Fenris's. He took an enemy crossbow bolt to the thigh. I sent Anders and Varric off to collect the now unguarded ironbark while I cleaned the wound prior to healing it.

"Do you want me to heal it or bind it?" I asked. We had to treat the injuries that affected mobility before worrying about cosmetic concerns. "It's a long walk back to Kirkwall and that muscle gets a lot of use."

"Do it," he said tersely, looking away.

"I'll have to touch you."

"Get on with it."

I laid my hand on the wound and tried to ignore the intimacy of the contact. The broken nose helped. I told myself that it was not a caress. If he wanted me to do so, he would have asked. He would not see my blush amid the bruising that inevitably spread from the break; I prayed that he would not feel my shudder as I pulled away.

"You're too gentle," he said. "Don't you want revenge for the nose?"

I smiled at the casual familiarity of his tone. We had our differences, but I could not help believing that he wanted to be friends.

"It was my own fault," I said. "I wasn't watching where I was going."

"You were distracted at the time. Your staff work is good. I had not thought you would be so athletic."

"My father..." I began. I hesitated, but continued after a moment's pause. If Fenris and I were going to be friends, he would have to learn to accept the magical part of my heritage. If we were not going to be friends, it did not matter what I said. "My father believed that a mage should be able to defend himself using all the means at his disposal. He used to encourage my brother and I to practice together."

"Your father showed wisdom," Fenris said carefully. "I have fought beside your brother. You have better control than him, for all his great strength."

"He's young," I said, warming to the praise. "His discipline will improve in time."

"I wonder," he said. "Would you like to train together sometime? The great hall of my house is large enough, and we would both benefit from the exercise."

"I would like that," I said, my blush deepening. "With one thing and another, Carver rarely has time anymore."

"He spends all his time at the Blooming Rose. You are too generous with his allowance."

"He gets his share of our winnings, just like everybody else," I said, and then the implication of his words sank in. "You know where he spends his time?"

"I live in Hightown," Fenris said with a cryptic half-smile. I found myself wondering if he frequented the brothel, to have sighted my brother there so often. I wondered how he justified his views about slavery with the concept of prostitution. I wondered whether he prefers male or female partners. I wondered if he found humans appealing. The silence that fell in the wake of his remark was almost a physical thing.

"Are you fit for travel?" I asked more out of a need to say something than because I questioned the state of his health.

"I am," he said. "You may want to do something about your nose."

"Why bother?" I shrugged. "The Maker seems to want me to go through life with it broken. That's the second time this month."

Despite my words, I gathered my will and healed the break. Fenris watched me intently. I wondered if he had seen magic used for innocent purposes before he came to Kirkwall. He must have, but the way he stared when I cast the most innocuous spell was unnerving.

"Perhaps you should have straightened it first," he said.

"Perhaps I should have," I sighed, feeling the now-permanent curve in my beak. I took comfort in the fancy that it might add a year or two to my beardless face.

Anders shook his head over the poor job I did at healing the break.

"You couldn't have waited for me?" he chided me.

"It was nothing much," I said. "It barely took any energy at all."

"That isn't the point," he said. "Now you'll have to live with it like that."

"You mean it doesn't make me look dangerous and alluring?" I joked.

"Only if that's another way of saying 'Too slow to duck,'" Varric shot back. "You'll have to ask Norah what she thinks of it."

I snorted and marched on for a few moments before remembering what Anders had said to me last night. I fell back to walk beside him.

"Do you remember when you told me Norah isn't my equal?" I asked quietly.

"You aren't still hung up about that are you?" Anders asked.

"No, but Varric's teasing reminded me. I'm _not_ too good for her. I'm a farmer, Anders, not nobility."

"You're a mage. That changes everything. Besides, the Amells were a respected family here in Kirkwall."

"That money's long gone," I said. "Gamlen sold the estate and the title to finance his vices. And even if it wasn't, I never knew any other life."

"Irrelevant. Let it go, Iain. You know you don't love her. You're only looking for an excuse to bed her."

He was right, of course. I had reconciled myself to that last night. I am certain that I would not have thought of it at all were it not for the novelty of finding someone who wanted me.

"I suppose you won't want much to do with a renegade healer once your family is re-established among the nobility of Kirkwall," he said after a moment's pause.

"On the contrary, I am looking forward to helping my fellow Fereldans," I said. "And if I am able to buy back the ancestral estate, you will always be welcome there. I plan to build a library, Anders, and collect every book that mentions magic at all. If mages are ever going to be free, we'll need to build a good argument, and for that, we need to do our research."

The light that shone in his eyes was all the encouragement I needed.

We completed the rest of the journey without incident. Solitivus was glad to have his ironbark. Varric proposed a card game at the Hanged Man to pass the rest of the afternoon and I almost agreed to it. I could not. It was easier when I thought Norah was indifferent to me. I could enjoy her pretty face and her smiles and not worry that I had something stuck between my teeth. Now, I wondered how I would even be able to talk to her. The knowledge that she did see me as a man - and one she felt some attraction toward - shattered my already inadequate composure. It was easy enough to tell Anders that I would behave honorably, but the prospect of finding a willing outlet for my frustrated libido was hard to pass up. I keep telling myself that I am doing the right thing. She deserves more than an apostate with an uncertain future. And her attraction could not be that great if she had so little trouble concealing it. I would be mortified to learn that I put myself through agonies over a passing fancy. Better I should avoid the Hanged Man for a while... if such a thing were possible. I told Varric that I would go home and take a bath instead. He went on to the tavern alone, Fenris went to Hightown, and Anders went to Darktown and the clinic. I wondered how many patients would be waiting for him.

When I reached home, I discovered that Aveline was visiting Mother. Both women gave me blazes for being gone a day longer than I said I would.

"How did it go with that elf-blooded mage child?" Aveline asked once she was done lecturing me about the discourtesy of keeping people waiting.

"He's safe," I said evasively. Aveline's distrust of magic and everyone who wields it is strong. I wonder how she can feel such an attachment to my family, considering the number of mages it has produced.

"You took him to the Circle?" she asked.

"What mage child?" Mother asked.

"A boy went missing," I said. "I helped his mother find him."

"The boy is a mage," Aveline said.

"A child is a child," Mother said. "I can't believe you would take anyone to the Circle, Iain. Not after everything your father and I went through to keep you out of it."

"I didn't," I sighed. "Aveline, I know you don't want to hear this, but I couldn't. The Kirkwall Circle isn't like the Ferelden Circle, and the templars here aren't like Wesley."

I can learn tact, it seems. I somehow managed to avoid mentioning that despite being mortally wounded and ludicrously outnumbered, her husband Wesley had tried to arrest my sister and me as we all fled the Blight. He was as indoctrinated against mages as any templar in Kirkwall, but it would have done no good to remind Aveline of that if she chose to forget it.

"No, I suppose not," she conceded. "Though it chills me to think of a young, uncontrolled mage running loose somewhere."

"He isn't as young as Ariani made it seem," I said. "He's nearly grown. I don't think he's shaving yet, but his voice is mostly done changing. Anyway, I didn't set him loose in Kirkwall. I took him to the Dalish. The Keeper will train him and keep him out of trouble."

"So it wasn't about Anders's herbs, after all," Mother said. "You shouldn't lie to your mother."

"I have tried to tell you what I'm doing and where I'm going, but it only upsets you," I said.

"Maybe that's because you never come home without bruises or blood-soaked clothing," she replied. "Two black eyes this time? Wasn't one good enough?"

"That was an accident, actually," I said. "Fenris caught me in the nose with his elbow."

"You weren't drinking again, I hope," Mother scolded.

"I don't drink every time I see Fenris, Mother," I said.

"Both you and your brother have been drinking far too much since we came to Kirkwall. You should have seen the state he was in yesterday. What were you thinking, allowing him to do that to himself?"

"Since when am I responsible for his behavior?" I asked pointlessly.

"You know he looks up to you," Aveline said. "You have a responsibility to advise him."

"That ought to go over well," I sighed. "He already thinks I'm ruining his life. Where is he, by the way?"

"He's helping Merrill," Mother said. "I wanted to talk to you about that. I like Merrill, I really do, but I think you should try to discourage Carver from spending so much time with her."

"She needs help, Mother," I said. "Her house isn't fit to be lived in. And if he's over there, you know he won't be drinking."

"I'd almost rather he was," Mother said. "At least then I could be sure that he wasn't getting himself into trouble. Life will be very different once we've regained our estate. Poor choices now might come back to haunt him once more eligible girls become available."

"I don't think you have to worry about that, Mother." I tried not to be offended by her elitism, but my patience was waning. Everything she said irritated me today. I needed to get away. "I'm going to go help Anders at the clinic for a while. And probably borrow his bathtub."

"Dinner is almost ready," she said. "You weren't planning on eating at the tavern again, were you?"

"Can you put enough for two people in a crock with a lid?" I asked. "Anders hasn't been at his clinic for a while, so I doubt he has any food there."

"Your life will change, too, once we've regained our place in society."

"You think I should abandon my friends?" I asked, my temper rising.

"I didn't say that, dear."

"But that is what you meant," Aveline said. "Let's not get carried away, Leandra."

"He's got to get married eventually," Mother said. "He'll be happier with someone who can share his life."

"Never mind the stew, Mother," I said, pulling some clean clothing off the clothesline by the fire and not caring that it was Carver's. "I think I'd better go. Don't wait up."

"Gamlen was asking about the half-sovereign you promised him," she reminded me. "And I'm out of parchment. And I hate to ask, but -"

I slapped a sovereign on the table.

"Will that do?" I interrupted.

"Yes," she said. "Will you be home at all tonight?"

"I don't know," I said. "If Carver comes home, will you tell him that I'll join him at Merrill's tomorrow? Between the two of us, we should be able to get her roof patched."

She nodded and I bid her and Aveline farewell. I grumbled to myself about needy relations and expectations and made haste to the baker's before she closed up her cart. She was out of the pork pies we liked, but she gave me a good price on an onion tart and some baked apples. Fereldan comfort food. I would pay for eating onions later, but the prospect of something homey helped dispel the gloom I felt over Mother's social aspirations. There are days when I wonder whether Mother craves wealth and status as a means of protecting me from the templars or whether she just wants to play mistress of the manor again.

I arrived at Anders's clinic just in time to help him treat an old man with debilitating rheumatism in his knees. We could do nothing for the source of his pain. We can slow the descent to the grave, but we cannot halt it, nor can we reverse damage that has already been done. At least we were able to reduce the inflammation of his joints and give him a few restful nights' sleep. When we were done, I left Anders to eat what I brought for him and drew a bath for myself.

"I didn't expect you tonight," he said around a mouthful of pie.

"Mother was in one of her moods," I said.

"She isn't happy in Kirkwall?"

"She doesn't like being poor. I don't know what she's complaining about. We were never rolling in coin. We rented two fields and a cottage from Old Barlin the innkeeper. The gold Flemeth gave us to pay for our passage was the first sovereign I'd seen. Now they flow through my hands like water and she still isn't happy."

"Maybe she thought that when she returned to Kirkwall, she would be returning to her old life as the privileged child of a noble family," Anders said.

"I think so, yes. It's getting tedious. She doesn't want Carver to spend time with Merrill because she's afraid that it will interfere with his marriage prospects later on."

"This is Carver we're talking about?" Anders smiled. "The man who can belch an entire stanza of 'The Road to Highever'?"

"Evidently. She even managed to offend Aveline, if you can believe it."

"I offend Aveline just by breathing. Is your bath hot enough? If we can loosen your muscles, that should help with the tension."

"If you wanted to nudge it up a little, I wouldn't complain," I said. "I haven't mastered the art of selective spell casting the way you have, and I was afraid to overdo it."

"Ordinarily, I would advise practice, but since you're already in the tub, I would prefer that you not scald yourself. We need to work on your control, Iain."

"In more ways than one," I sighed. "My temper will be my undoing."

"Your temper is the least of your problems," Anders said. "You show more restraint than many would in your place, but it would be better for your health if if you did release your feelings. You internalize everything and it's making you sick. Why aren't you eating?"

"I'm taking a bath. Soggy pies are unappetizing. Besides, if you're going to be pushing on my back, the last thing I want is a colon full of onion gas. Save me an apple, though. I'll eat that once you've finished poking and prodding me into health."

"It's going to take more than a massage for that. I can't cure you completely while you live under this chronic pressure."

"You'll just have to repeat the treatment," I said. "On second thought, never mind about heating the water. I'm clean enough and as relaxed as one dip in a bathtub is likely to make me. I'm ready for the rubdown, I think."

"Ready and eager, I'd say," he laughed. "It's just a massage, Iain. It isn't going to change your life."

"You're wrong there." I pulled on clean small clothes and lay face down on a treatment table. I no longer worried about being naked around Anders. It seemed foolish to blush over showing some skin when I would have given myself entirely to him if he asked.

Silence fell as he went to work. Fatigue and care drained from my body as my muscles relaxed beneath his touch.

"Would it help if I spoke to your mother?" he asked. "She wouldn't make so many demands of you if she knew how it is affecting your health."

"It wouldn't help. She's used to being looked after. When Father was alive, he made sure that she never had a care in the world, and now that he's gone, she expects me to do the same. She even blames the Blight on me, I think."

"That's enough talking for now," he said. "I can feel you tightening up just thinking about it."

I tried to stop my mind from thinking of troubling things, but trying not to think of something is the best way in Thedas to be sure that you do.

"How did you deal with the isolation, Anders?" I asked.

"You mean the loneliness," he corrected. "With all the people who want your help, you're hardly isolated."

"Yes, that is what I meant."

"I invited a Fade spirit to live in my skull. I don't recommend it."

"Before that," I prompted.

"I lived in the Circle. Apart from the year I spent in solitary confinement, we had each other. We were all miserable, but at least we were miserable together."

"And your sexually adventurous lifestyle probably didn't hurt. It must be hard feeling lonely when you're hopping from bed to bed."

"Sex doesn't relieve loneliness, you know. Sometimes, I would lie there waiting for the afterglow to fade and thinking that I might as well have been having a wank in the privy."

"I don't believe you."

"That's your choice."

"You would lie there after being so intimate and compare it to masturbation?"

"It wasn't anything personal. It was like asking somebody to scratch your back. We were treated like a commodity and we believed it. Some more than others. Some of the apprentices used to offer their bodies to the templars in exchange for little favors: Letters home, an hour or two without supervision, a trip to the Calenhad Docks. Most of the time, the promised favor would not be delivered. Who could the apprentice complain to? The things they were asking for were illegal."

"Did you ever do that?"

"I thought about it, but no. I never did. I wanted those things, but my hatred of the templars was too strong to let them touch me. Of course, not every apprentice was given the privilege of refusal. Defloration by templar is not uncommon."

"You said that Karl was your first."

"He was. He wanted me to experience pleasure before the templars had their turn."

"What was it like? Your first time?"

"I was young. Too young, maybe, but I never regretted it. Were you you curious or did you have a specific reason for asking?"

"I am curious. Does talking about it bother you?"

"No, not really. I understand your curiosity."

"Was it much different when you were with a woman?"

"Apart from the obvious differences, not really. The feeling of anticipation and release is the same whether you're with a man, a woman, or all by yourself. An emotional connection with your lover makes a difference, but you'd feel that just by lying beside them. Maybe we should change the subject. You're getting tense again."

"I can't help it. I'm not used to being touched."

"Do you want me to stop?"

"No, please don't. It feels good."

"I'm going to have to stop eventually. And you're going to have to go home."

"I know. Want to come back to Gamlen's with me?" I held my breath, hoping he would consent.

"You know I can't. Your uncle resents my presence."

"Gamlen resents my presence, too."

"And that's why I shouldn't antagonize him. It's his house."

"He never lets us forget that. Even if I do wind up paying for everything."

His ministrations had begun to hurt. The more I thought about the weeks ahead, the more knotted my muscles became.

"I've changed my mind," I said. "I'll spend tomorrow in Kirkwall, but the day after, I'm going to go after Javaris's Tal-Vashoth."

"Don't be foolish, Iain," he said. I cried out in pain as he dug his fingers into a particularly tense part of my back. "You need time to recover."

"I don't have it. I have to provide for my family, Anders. I need to have something put aside in case I don't make it back."

His hands stopped moving.

"Don't say that," he said.

"I'm not planning on dying. My father and Bethany didn't plan on it, either."

"No wonder you're so tense, if this is what's been occupying your thoughts!" He began again, kneading my shoulders hard.

"Give me something else to think about!" I challenged him, then yelped at the force of his touch and sat up. "Maker's balls, do you have to be so rough? I thought you were trying to help me relax."

"Has anything you've said been relaxing?" he asked angrily.

"Not talking about it wouldn't make my worries go away," I retorted, pouring all of my frustration into the words. "I just thought you were the one person in Thedas I could talk to."

His mouth fell open and he stared at me.

"Oh, Iain," he sighed, sitting on the table beside me. "I really have made a mess of things, haven't I?"

"I don't know. The shouting has cleared my head. It felt good to let it out."

"That's something, I guess," he said skeptically.

"You know what would really help? Wrestling. You and me, right now."

"Oh, no! I'm not falling for that again! Last time, you almost got me to kiss you."

"It was worth a shot," I laughed. I did feel better. The emotional purge had been brief, but it was what I needed.

"I hate to spoil your fun, but you'll be going home in the dark."

"I know. The sun was setting when I entered Darktown. Will you be joining us the day after tomorrow?"

"I want to, but I don't know if I can," he said. "I've been neglecting my patients. I will see you tomorrow, though... at some point. We can talk more about it then."

We embraced at the door of his clinic and I began the long walk home. Once, navigating these narrow, poorly-lit tunnels terrified me. Now... Well, I was still afraid at times, but my fear was receding. Familiarity with the route and confidence of my own abilities had transformed the labyrinth into just another annoying obstacle on my way from one place to another. A metaphor for life, perhaps. I wonder what the chokedamp symbolizes.


	31. Chapter 31: An Object of Desire

_AN: BioWare owns everybody but Iain and the odd character here and there. I just write unacceptably long chapters about them. Apologies for the length. I did try to whittle it down, but that has never been my forte._

* * *

><p>9:30 Dragon, 1 Cloudreach: Our favorite campsite, the Wounded Coast<p>

Peaches's restlessness woke me. It was long before dawn - I felt as if I had barely closed my eyes - but someone in the house was awake. I heard feminine giggling in the kitchen.

"I told you," Carver's voice whispered. "It isn't much, but it's home."

"Show me your bedroom," a female voice teased.

"I can't. Look, I didn't say this before, but I live with my brother. He's sleeping."

"Why don't you wake him? I don't mind sharing."

"I do," he said. "Here, how's this, then?"

More giggling followed, then a loud, throaty moan. Peaches whined and nudged me insistently. I tried to hush him, but I heard my mother shift in her bed.

"You'd better walk him," she mumbled sleepily. It was too much to hope that she could not hear the sounds coming from the other room, but she said nothing of them. Knowing Mother, she was probably counting on me to break up whatever tryst was taking place in the kitchen.

I knocked loudly on the door. Silence fell in the other room. A moment later, Carver appeared at the door.

"I hate you, you know," he whispered.

"I need to walk the dog," I said. "And you need to come with me."

"I've got company..." he began, then his gaze rose to Mother's bunk. As if on cue, she coughed. "Oh. Right. I'll be back in a moment."

He closed the door. A short, hushed conversation followed. The front door slammed, then the bedroom door opened.

"I hope you're happy," Carver said bitterly while I pulled on a pair of trousers and thrust my feet into my boots.

"Ecstatic," I yawned. Peaches bounded ahead of us, then bolted out the door as soon as I opened it. "Carver, you can't bring girls home like that."

"Jealous?"

"No, embarrassed. Mother was awake."

"What am I supposed to do?" he demanded. "I have a right to a life, you know."

"No one is saying you don't," I said. "Nor is anybody disputing your right to bed every tramp in Lowtown. You just can't do it in our uncle's house."

"Well, maybe if you'd get your priorities in order, we wouldn't be living in Gamlen's house anymore! You've got more than enough saved to buy us a real house."

"A house in Lowtown, maybe, but that isn't what Mother wants."

"Mother wants to play Lady of the Manor again," Carver said. "Those days are gone. It's stupid to cling to forgotten glory. And neither of us wants that kind of life."

"It doesn't matter what we want. It means a lot to her, and she's lost too much to deny it to her. Not now. We're so close."

"How much money do we have?"

"Forty-three sovereigns and change."

"You call that close? What do you think Mother will live on while we're gone?"

"Gamlen won't let her starve," I said. "It's us he objects to. He sees us frittering away our days, drinking up our income, and cavorting with lovers instead of earning our keep."

"You mean me, I take it?"

"I mean us," I lied.

"He's being a hypocrite, then. You know how he spends his time."

"It's his house. If he wants to stand at the bar of the Blooming Rose all day, that's his business. He isn't asking anybody else to fund his vices."

"So what do you expect me to do about it? I shouldn't have to live life as a recluse just because Mother's fantasies mean more to you than our independence."

"That's a reach, Carver," I said. "No one would ever accuse you of living a hermit's life. Even in Lothering, you bedded more girls than I knew by name."

"People would have thought it was strange if we both kept to ourselves."

"And now? Do you think Mother is proud of whatever skills you were exercising back there?"

"That was awkward," he agreed. "But not as awkward as you streaking across Quarry Yard."

"Don't remind me. This new girl... Is it serious?"

"Don't be an idiot."

"So, no harm done if she's scared off for good?"

"No, and that's the worst part. What decent girl would have me if she knew I had a mage for a brother?"

That hurt.

"Maybe that's the real reason Mother wants the house in Hightown," I retaliated. "Maybe she thinks that if we're rich enough, I'll be able to pay someone to take you off her hands."

"Or maybe she thinks that status and wealth will make you untouchable," he retorted. "Isn't that why we do everything? To keep precious Iain safe from the templars?"

"Isn't this the point where one of us starts punching the other?" I asked, trying to keep the pain out of my voice. I know the truth of both that jab and the one before.

"This isn't a joke, Iain. Every day of my life, it's 'Iain this' or 'Iain that.' Just once, I'd like somebody to think about what I want."

"Why should we bother? You do it enough for all of us."

Carver's fist caught me in the cheek. The dam burst and I laid into him with everything I had. Peaches barked and snapped at my brother's clothing as we rolled around on the street, punching and kicking each other viciously. I am faster than Carver and more agile, but he is far, far stronger than me. If I am to win any fight with him, I need to evade him every time. For him to win, he has only to pin me once. As usual, I lost. Ordinarily, he would stop fighting once he realized that I was helpless. This time, his rage and frustration got the better of him. He continued to pummel me until someone pulled him off.

"Andraste's ass, Junior!" I heard Varric say. "Is that Hawke under there?"

The beating stopped and silence fell. I turned my head to look through swollen eyelids at the ring of onlookers we had attracted.

"Maker's breath!" Carver gasped. "What have I done?"

A beefy hand reached down and helped me to my feet. My head swam, and it was all I could do to remain standing until it cleared.

"Why didn't you stop me, brother?" Carver demanded, putting an arm under my shoulders and helping me across to a barrel.

"You sounded like you needed to pound the snot out of me," I said through torn lips. I offered no resistance as he took my chin in his hands and turned my face toward the lantern light so he could see the damage.

"Mother's going to kill me," he groaned.

"Haven't you people got anything better to do?" Varric asked of the bystanders. "Move along! Nothing to see."

With the crowd's attention focused on Varric, I gathered my will and healed the cuts and the worst of the bruises. The discoloration would remain, but I had enough of that already from the broken nose Fenris had given me. Miraculously, my nose remained whole throughout my scuffle with Carver.

"What was that all about?" Varric asked once everyone else had dispersed.

"Carver was feeling disgruntled," I said. "A round or two of wrestling usually clears the air. I didn't think it would turn into a fist fight."

"And an elbow fight and a knee fight," Carver said, massaging his abdomen. "I think you broke a rib."

"You'd better let me patch you up," I said, suiting thought to action. "I want you ready to leave Kirkwall in the morning."

"Where are we going?" Varric asked.

"The Wounded Coast," I said. "Again. We promised Javaris we'd look into that Tal-Vashoth thing over a month ago."

"You promised," Carver said.

"Are you in or not? You must be running low on coin by now."

"I'm in. Who else is going?"

"You're taking him with you?" Varric asked incredulously. "He just tried to kill you!"

"He was just blowing off some steam," I said.

"It's a brother thing," Carver added.

"My brother and I never did shit like that and we don't even like each other," Varric said.

"Maybe that's why," I shrugged. "Better, Carver?"

"Yeah," he said. "You?"

I sighed and muttered something affirmative. He inflicted the worst injuries before he threw his first punch, but there was no point in bringing that up. He was right. I might be the only thing holding our little family together, but I am a burden to them.

"Are you up for it, Varric?" I asked.

"I'm in," he said, "but all this fresh air and exercise can't be good for you."

"Who else is coming?" Carver asked.

"No idea. Whoever shows up when I want to leave."

"Anders?" Carver asked with a sneer.

"Not this time," I said with some regret. "He needs to spend some time at his clinic."

"Better and better!" Carver said. I ignored him.

"Would Merrill be interested?" I asked. "She hasn't been out of Kirkwall since we brought her here."

"No idea," Carver said.

"You're there every day. You must know whether she's getting restless."

"I'm there every day according to Mother."

"Now you've given me something else to worry about," I said dejectedly. "I left her alone among strangers."

"She's happy," he shrugged.

"I doubt it. She isn't the type to complain. She's probably lonely as the Void."

"I saw her this evening," Varric said. "She'd probably welcome a visit, but she keeps herself busy."

"Thanks, Varric, but I really should go see her. I'll visit her early. We can meet at the Hanged Man afterward."

"Suit yourself," Varric said. "How early did you want to get moving?"

"As early as possible. It's been warm. I'd like to be clear of the harbor by noon. Assuming that we find the Tal-Vashoth camp by nightfall, we'll still have to spend the night out, but that shouldn't come as a surprise."

"Just as long as it doesn't end like last time," Carver said. "You don't expect dragons, do you?"

"Was that really the last time you and I went somewhere together? We can stop by the Gallows on the way out of Kirkwall. Solitivus will have elfroot potions. That will give us some extra security since Anders won't be coming."

"I'd better go back," Carver said. "If you want an early start, I'd better get some sleep. What are you going to tell Mother?"

"I'll tell her it's a business deal," I said.

"I meant about the new bruises."

"Oh, them. I'll go have an ale at the Hanged Man and tell her I got jumped on the way home. You'd better take Peaches back with you. She'd never believe a mabari would let its owner come to harm."

"Right," Carver said. He waved farewell to Varric and led Peaches back to Gamlen's house.

"You have got to be the strangest family in the Free Marches," Varric said once he was gone.

"Probably," I agreed as we walked toward the Hanged Man. "Is Norah working?"

"No, Edwina."

"That's lucky. I've been meaning to ask you: Is there any chance we could find work for Merrill somewhere?"

"Doing what?" Varric snorted. "Not much call for blood mages in Kirkwall."

"I don't know. Gardening or something."

"I'll keep my ears open," he said, unlocking the door to his suite. "You can use my dining room if you like, but I'm going to bed."

"Thanks, but I don't feel like drinking alone. Sleep well."

I placed my order at the bar and sipped my beer when it arrived. I looked around for someone to talk to, but there was no one nearby. I tried to join a conversation on the other side of the bar, but the participants grew quiet at my approach and did not resume talking again until I left. A solitary man at a nearby table accepted the ale I bought him, but he responded to my questions with monosyllabic answers and ventured none of his own. Even Corff had nothing to say to me, although he, at least, had an excuse. I have never been in the Hanged Man when Corff was not present. He must be exhausted. I finished my beer and went out into the street. No one raised their head at my passing.

Dejected and lonely, I walked the city until dawn. I told myself that I was not a hopeless pariah, that it was just bad luck or bad timing that made people cold and unfriendly. They could not know that I am a mage. There would be no reason for them to avoid me... unless my magic is not the only thing that makes me an undesirable companion.

I passed through the alienage as the sky began to lighten. I considered calling on Merrill. Candlelight flickered under her door, so she must be awake, but I walked on toward Gamlen's house. My mood was dark. It would have been cruel to subject her to it.

Mother was awake when I finally returned home.

"And where were you last night?" she asked. "You're getting as bad as Carver."

"I couldn't sleep. I came home to get some things. Carver and I will be gone for a few days. We have business along the Wounded Coast."

"More herbs for Anders?"

"No, we're looking into an investment opportunity with a dwarf named Javaris."

"You'd better take your father's staff," she said, nodding toward the barrel where I kept my weapons. I eyed the ornately carved staff skeptically.

"It's a little obvious, don't you think?" I asked. "I've got an errand in the Gallows."

"There's a sleeve for it somewhere. Cover it up while you're in the city and people will think you're carrying an unstrung longbow. That walking stick you favor is discreet, but it isn't very powerful. I'd rather not hear about any more near-death experiences."

"You know, Mother, there's something I've been meaning to ask you about Father's staff..."

"It's supposed to be Andraste," she said. "Your father was very devout."

"Evidently," I said dryly, covering the gilded nude on the head of the staff with the canvas cover. "The Maker was an ass man, I take it?"

"Iain!" Mother gasped. "That's a little crude, don't you think?"

"I'm not the one with ribald arcane implements. Alright, I am, but only because I inherited them from Father. The Circle must have been different back then."

"We never really talked about his time in the Circle," she said, not looking at me. "I can only say that he insisted that we do everything we possibly could to keep you out of it."

For a moment, I wished that I could spend the morning talking to her. She was the only one willing to talk to me, and she seemed more willing than usual to talk about the past, something she almost never did unless she wanted to remind me of all that she and my father sacrificed for my freedom... though even now, she made reference to the hardships my family had endured for my sake. I wanted to talk about their life before I was born, or how things were when I was small, before they learned of my magic. I wondered if my father had ever watched me grip his finger in one chubby fist and been grateful that nothing more lethal would ever spring from my hands. I wondered if he had watched my first shaky steps and been glad that I would never need to learn how to run, except as other boys do. I wondered what he felt when he learned that I was more like him than he knew. I felt a pang when I imagined his disappointment.

"Are you alright?" Mother asked.

I shook my head to clear it. I was being foolish. For all I know, Father was delighted that so many of his children had inherited the gift. Silence does not have to spring from shame. Perhaps my parents thought I remembered it myself and there was no need to speak more of it.

"Yes, of course," I said. "I should run my errand now before it gets late. When Carver wakes up, please tell him to meet me at the Hanged Man. If he isn't up by mid-morning, please wake him."

"After last night, I don't suppose there's any need to worry about him and Merrill," Mother said.

"Probably not," I agreed.

With that, I kissed her cheek and bid her farewell.

There are a lot of things I hate about the Gallows. The ferry ride across the harbor is not one of them. I am beginning to like being on the water. The beauty of the early-morning sunlight glinting on the ripples is almost enough to make me forget that should anything happen to the boat, I will sink like a rock. Perhaps one day, I will work up the courage to ask someone to teach me to swim. In the meantime, I sat on the bench, looked out over the calm harbor, and enjoyed the view. The trip ended too soon. The portcullis was still rising as I walked under it.

I spied Solitivus at his usual spot, but he was still unpacking crates from the wagon that served him as a market stall. I waved a cheerful greeting to him and poked around the other merchants' booths while he set out his wares.

A strange, colorful figure caught my eye. I would have passed him as I entered the Gallows, but I must have subconsciously avoided him. Most of his clothing was red. Perhaps I mistook him for a templar. He seemed to be an artist. A painting of the monument stood in front of him, the bronze statue glinting in the dawn light as the sun rose behind it. I drew closer to admire the painting.

A flicker of movement caught my eye. A young boy crouched behind him, and the glint of metal caught my eye. I reached for my staff, but the feel of the canvas reminded me that I was in the Gallows. Using magic now would be disastrous. I launched myself at the thief. Disaster ensued anyway.

The diminutive cutpurse must have heard me approach. He spun, lashing out with his knife. It raked across my abdomen. Fire exploded across my gut. I screamed.

"Cricket, no!" I heard as consciousness slipped away from me.

I opened my eyes. I lay on the flagstones of the courtyard. Beautiful coal-black eyes looked down on me in concern.

"He lives!" the man cried in a rich, deeply accented voice. "Do not try to speak, my friend. Stefan will see you made whole."

He looked away and I closed my eyes again, unable to bear the glare of the sun beating down on me. My belly was on fire. I wondered how quickly I would die.

"You there!" the deep-voiced man called. "Yes, you! Templar! Can you not see this man is hurt? Carry him to my studio at once!"

Another man said something inaudible.

"You can and you will!" the artist said. "This man stopped a thief from robbing me while you stood by and did nothing. His death will be on your heads!"

I blacked out for a few moments while the templar moved me. When I regained consciousness, I was lying on a couch of some sort in a dimly-lit room. I could hear the artist giving instructions to the templar.

"Tell me no more of your rules!" the artist said. "Surely the Knight-Commander will allow one healer to tend a dying man!"

"Send for Solitivus," I interrupted. I could scarcely believe how weak my voice sounded. "He has elfroot potion."

"Yes, of course!" the artist agreed. "Make haste! Your captain will not want to hear how a man died performing a task allotted to you."

I heard footsteps and then the sound of a door opening and closing. A gentle hand touched my face.

"Be strong, my friend," he said. "Help will come soon. Is it very bad?"

"I... I don't know."

"If you will permit me, I will see for myself."

I felt my belt fall away and my tunic was raised and my pants lowered. Cool air seared the edges of what felt like a massive gash that stretched from hip to hip.

"By the stars, you have the torso of an angel! You must be saved, or the city will drown in the tears of its virgins."

"The only virgin in this city is me," I tried to laugh, but it turned into a cough. My gut exploded in agony.

I passed out again before I could hear his answer.

I woke as warm healing magic flowed through my body. I blinked. It did not feel like Anders's touch. Solitivus stood over me, his face set in a look of intense concentration. He raised a bloody hand to wipe perspiration from his forehead.

"I hope you'll forgive that little bit of unauthorized magic," he said wearily, but whether he was speaking to me or to the templar who stood next to him, I could not tell. "He was too far gone to swallow a potion."

I had forgotten that Solitivus is a mage. He is a formari, a journeyman authorized to craft goods and work outside the Circle. Healing did not come easily to him, judging from the sweat that streaked his face.

"Yes, yes," the templar replied in a bored voice. "I won't report you this time, but if you offer any more help, it had better come out of a bottle."

"Of course," he said. "Now let's see if we can fix what's left with a potion or two."

He raised my head, held a vial to my lips, and gasped, recognizing me for the first time.

"Maker's breath, Hawke!" he exclaimed. "I never expected to find _you_ like this!"

"You two know each other, then?" the artist asked. "He will live, yes?"

Foul-tasting liquid poured into my mouth. I swallowed it and made a face.

"He will live," Solitivus said, "though I can't imagine how he wound up in such straits. Your patient slew a dragon, you know."

"I was too slow to dodge," I said, sitting up and pulling my blood-soaked tunic back into place. The bottom half hung comically below the slash the knife had made. The weight of the hem pulled it open like a huge mouth laughing at its own joke.

Solitivus gave me a knowing look and nodded. He pointed at several cloth objects on the table.

"I brought your things in from the courtyard," he said. "Your pack seems to be leaking something, but your... bow... seems fine."

"That's lucky," I said. "It's been in the family a long time."

"Such things are worth preserving," he agreed. "What brings you to the Gallows today?"

"I was coming to see you, actually," I said. "My brother and I are going to be away for a few days and I thought I'd buy a few potions for the trip."

"You cannot possibly go!" my rescuer protested. "You have not yet recovered your strength. See how your hand shakes? You must allow me to show my gratitude by nursing you back to health."

"Really, Stefan, he's fine," Solitivus laughed. "Yes, I did arrive not a moment too soon, but he is on the mend and will soon be as good as new."

"You two know each other?" I asked.

"Stefan has been here for six months," Solitivus said. "The scenery doesn't change much, so I make it a point of getting to know the newcomers. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got a shop to get back to. See you when you've said your goodbyes?"

"Yes," I replied. "Thank you for saving me."

"Come buy my potions!" he laughed. "That's all the thanks I need."

The herbalist and the templar left, leaving me alone with Stefan. I saw that he was young - or at least younger than me - and handsome in a dark, exotic way. His accent sounded Antivan. His clothing was garish, but it was well-fitted and well-filled. Considering his appearance, his flattery earlier was especially gratifying... even if he was being insincere.

"I don't know how to thank you," I said once we were alone. "I don't know what I would have done if you weren't there."

"You would have bought your potions and gone home, no?" he smiled. "My inattention to my surroundings put you in harm's way, and I am overcome with remorse. Now come, we are thrown together, you and I, so let us make the most it. You must tell me your name."

"My name is Hawke," I said. "Iain."

"Hawke Iain?" Stefan repeated as if tasting it.

"Hawke is my family name," I explained. "My parents called me Iain."

"Ah, you are the head of your family and use the name to show that you speak for them? I will call you Iain, if you will allow it. I wish to know you, not your dead ancestors."

"Stefan... please, it's too much," I said. His enthusiasm was unnerving.

"A handsome stranger saves me from a terrible crime, nearly at the cost of his own life? I am quite overcome."

"I'm not handsome," I said. "I own a looking glass."

"In Treviso," he said, "a man with skin as pale and flawless as yours would have flocks of admirers."

"How do they feel about two black eyes and a crooked nose?" I asked.

"You lead an adventurous life."

"Which is taking me outside Kirkwall," I said.

"I see how it is," he sighed. He seemed to diminish until his presence matched his appearance. He became in truth a lithe, graceful young man with sensitive, sensual features. He was almost pretty. "You save people every day, Serah Iain, but I live a simple life. I paint and I dream, and I earn my living as best I can. For someone like you to touch my life and then vanish..."

He looked away.

"Tomorrow," he went on, his voice still subdued, "tomorrow I will wonder if I dreamed all this. I will think you a vision brought on by too much wine, one of my paintings come to life to remind me how alone and insignificant I am."

I stared at him and wondered at the scope of his imagination. No one has ever treated me like a hero before. It hope I never forget how awkward and uncomfortable it felt. It will keep me humble.

"Please, don't make so much of this. The same thing happened to me a few months ago. My friend Varric stopped a thief from stealing my purse."

"And when he had done this thing, did he go away and never return?"

"He made me his business partner."

"There you are," he said with satisfaction. "You must not go. To do so would be a cruel betrayal of your friend's sacrifice."

"Stefan, please. I can't tell you how embarrassing this is. I'm not a vision. I'm not a hero. I'm a man just like you... except that I can't draw."

"Then stay and let me get to know the man that you are," he pleaded. Defeated, I sighed and sat down on the couch again. It was wet with my blood.

"Tomorrow, when you're wondering if this really happened," I said, "ask someone what it costs to launder these cushions. It might have been kinder of me to let that boy rob you."

He hurried to pour wine into to cups and pressed one of them into my hands. I took a sip and choked at its strength.

"It isn't a very good year, I'm afraid," he said.

"I don't drink wine, as a rule. Certainly not this early in the day."

"Today you will," he said. "You need to replenish your strength. Lie back upon the cushions and rest. And I will begin a new painting. I am inspired."

"I can't rest, Stefan," I said. "I promised my brother that I would meet him at the Hanged Man at an early hour."

"Tell me about this brother if it will put you at ease."

"He's much bigger than me," I said. "In every imaginable way. He's better looking, too."

"That cannot be," Stefan said.

"It's true. If we stand side by side, I don't even come up to his collarbone. And everyone always said that he was the good-looking one."

"Fereldans are a strange people. Do you have a large family?"

"I had a sister, my brother's twin, but she was killed by an ogre. How about you?"

"I was sold to a painter when I was six years old," he said with no trace of bitterness. "I hardly remember what came before."

"But you're free now. Your life must have improved."

"My master is dead, murdered by the Crows. He had no heirs, so I inherited my freedom. In truth, I grew to love the old man. He was gentle - more gentle than most would be to a snivelling child, weeping at things he did not understand. He taught me my trade, and when he asked for pleasure, he gave pleasure in return."

I shuddered. Stefan seemed barely out of childhood as it was. Even if his master had waited until he had an adult's body, that was still too young. As if any number of years would have made that proper.

"Antiva is not the Free Marches," Stefan said, sensing my revulsion. "We see no harm in giving or receiving pleasure at another's request. We were not lovers in the sense of sharing our hearts, at least not at first, but he was very kind to me. I was well fed and well cared-for, even when he had nothing but bread for his own table. And in time, when illness and the poison his rivals were feeding him began to take their toll, he was more a friend than anything else. He tried giving me my freedom five years before his death, but I would not leave him."

"Five years ago?" I marveled, looking once more at his youthful face. "How old are you, exactly?"

"Would it surprise you to learn that I am five-and-twenty? I am told that I look younger than I am."

"You do," I said, blinking at his revelation. I would have thought he was my brother's age at most.

"We are talking about me again," he said. "I wish to learn about you."

"There isn't much to say," I said. "I was a farmer in Ferelden and now I'm here."

"You are more than that, my friend," he said, gazing at my staff on the table. He had an odd, knowing look in his eye.

"You couldn't know about that!" I blurted. "I've done nothing to reveal myself."

"More's the pity!" he laughed, draining his cup, pouring another, and sitting beside me. "If you were naked, I would never let you meet with your good friend Solitivus."

"Did he tell you what I am?"

"No, not at all. I am an artist, dear Iain. I am trained to notice the shapes of things and see them for what they are despite the shrouds that cover them. I know that is no bow on my table, and who else would go to such pains to conceal a walking stick?"

"And that doesn't concern you?" I asked, flinching as he placed his hand on my thigh.

"Antiva is not the Free Marches," he said again. "Oh, we have your Chantry and your templars, and your Circle of Magi, but when death comes for you in Antiva, look for a dagger, not a spell. Besides, you risked your life to help a stranger. That is not the deed of a monster."

He drank down his wine and got up to pour himself another. Conversation followed. We talked of many things, none of which I remember. He drank constantly. I held back, barely sipping my wine as courtesy demanded, but my belly was empty and I had lost a lot of blood. By the time my cup was empty enough to put it down without causing offense, I was dizzy, drunk, and vaguely ill.

We had fallen into a kind of silence. I had shed both tunic and shirt at his request and I lounged on his couch sipping yet another cup of wine while he sketched me and chattered about poses and bone structure. Time passed and I dozed. His voice wove its way into my dreams. Stefan was making love to me.

I woke with a start.

Part of the dream was true. Stefan was still talking, but he sat beside me, chafing my cheeks and bidding me to place my wrist behind my head and spread my legs a little more. I jumped when he inserted his hand between my thighs.

"I was positioning you for another sketch!" he said.

"You were not. You were fondling me. Why?"

"Because you are beautiful. Do not be afraid. I will do nothing without your consent."

"We just met! Stefan, please, I really need to go. I have a long way to go today."

"Do you not want me to touch you?"

"I've never been with a man before," I said. "Depending on who you ask, I've never been with a woman, either."

"Depending on who I ask?" he asked.

"There was a templar's sister I was close to for a while. We almost... but we didn't."

I tried to will myself sober. I was partially successful.

"She never beheld the glory of your form?"

"Sort of. She chased me out of her house with a poker. All of Lowtown got an eyeful that day."

"Does it bother you that another man wants you?"

"No... I've been attracted to men before. _A_ man, I should say. He doesn't want me, though."

"Is he mad?"

"That depends on who you ask," I said. Now that I was sitting up, my senses were returning, along with a monstrous headache. "Listen, I'm not saying no because you're a man. It's just that we've known each other for mere hours, and your intensity is a bit off-putting."

"You don't find me repulsive, then?" he asked hopefully.

"No, not at all. If things had been different, I would probably have been the one asking you for permission to touch."

"So, you will let me touch you?" His hand crept up the inside of my thigh.

"No," I said even as I involuntarily spread my legs. His caresses were having a profound effect on me, no matter how much I urged restraint. We both looked at my pants. The boy's knife had cut through my clothing well below my belt. What the soft drape of my loose trousers did not reveal, the rent that split them did. His hand hovered inches from bare skin. I expected him to ignore my request and stroke me despite my protestations, but miraculously, he withdrew his hand.

"Will you permit me to kiss you?" he asked.

I nodded. My world changed forever.

Macha kissed me purposefully. She had a clear goal in mind, that of seducing a man who would take her out of her father's house and give her a comfortable life. She intended to cause arousal and she did, but there was always something lacking. There was no joy in her embrace, no delight in touching another person and finding pleasure in the contact.

Kissing Stefan was nothing like that. He kissed me because he wanted to kiss me. His caress was not part of any plan... unless it was to extract as much enjoyment as he could from the experience. When his lips met mine, it was as if he were drinking me in with his senses and offering himself in return. His moan of passion vibrated through my body to its core. I was tempted to surrender, but I held firm.

"And now may I touch you?" he breathed. I could hear the ache in his voice.

"No," I groaned. He sighed, falling against my chest.

"You are displeased?" he whispered.

"I am... new to this," I said, aware of how lame it sounded. "Even if this went further, I'm not sure I could give you what you want."

"Your body seems willing," he began, grinning at the effect he was having on me.

"Too willing," I said. "I don't know how two men make love, but I have a feeling that I'd spend myself before we found out."

"Let me please you, then."

"No, not like this. I'm not ready. Maybe we can talk more after I return from my journey?"

He quivered against my body. My arms closed around him and I fought off sleep.

"Will you forgive me if I ask you to let me go?" I asked.

"Only if you promise to return swiftly," he said. "This is my studio, but it is also my home. You are welcome at any hour."

"Are we still in the Gallows?" I asked. "I didn't think anyone lived here but mages and templars."

"I am an artist," he said. "My studio is my home... at least until I have finished painting every wretched thing the Knight-Commander and the Grand Cleric want me to paint. After that, I will have to seek another patron."

"They lock up the gates pretty early here," I said.

"Very true," Stefan said, smiling slyly, "but if you visit in the hour before sunset, you will be obliged to spend the night."

"Speaking of which, what time is it? We've been here for hours."

"You came at dawn, yes? It is not past noon."

"Maker's breath, Stefan, I really must go. I will be gone for two days. On the third day, I will return. _Well_ before sunset."

He kissed me again on the threshold.

"I will wait for you," he said.

I ran to Solitivus's shop clutching my clothing in one hand and my pack and staff in the other. Fortunately, the blood I had lost allowed my arousal to recede almost instantly, so I was neither on display nor encumbered by inconvenient protrusions.

"I see the wound you sustained healed without a scar," the formari said with a grin. "Splendid."

"What a wild morning it has been," I said, shaking my head. "Is he always like that?"

"He has never offered to nurse me back to health," Solitivus joked.

"I'm sorry," I floundered. "I didn't know you and he... Or are you?"

"We aren't. But it seems that you are."

"You don't approve."

"It isn't my business," he said. "But what is there to do in the Gallows but gossip? Guard your heart, my friend. Stefan is impulsive."

"So I gathered," I said. "Thank you for the warning, Sol. I'll keep my wits about me."

"From the looks of things, my warning is a little late," he chuckled, raising an eyebrow at my bare chest. "What can I get for you today? Can I interest you in a robe?"

"Four... make that six... elfroot potions and something to clear my head. He poured wine down my throat like it was water and now my skull feels as if someone has set up a smithy in it. Never mind the robe. I can change my clothing when I get back to Lowtown."

After I had collected my purchases, I took the ferry back to Lowtown. I had enjoyed the trip earlier, but now, it seemed interminable. At last, the boat landed and I ran home.

"I didn't expect to see you back so soon-" Mother began, then froze when she saw my shirtless state and the blood-soaked front of my trousers.

"A thief in the Gallows," I said. "As you can see, I'm not hurt, so there's no reason to panic."

"That blood is yours, isn't it?"

"Yes, Mother, but I'm fine. Not even a scar to show for it. Please, I need to change my clothes. I can't travel like this. I'll draw flies."

She followed me into the bedroom and stood in the doorway while I pulled on clean clothing.

"Iain... be honest with me. How much danger are you in? How much danger are you dragging your brother into?"

"How much danger are you living in every day that I'm here? Mother, I will not wait one day longer than I need to. We are seven sovereigns short. I intend to have the money by Summerday."

I expected her to argue. Mercifully, she let me go. Varric, Carver, and Fenris were waiting at the Hanged Man.

"I thought you wanted to make an early start," Carver complained. "We've been here for hours."

"My trip to the Gallows was... eventful," I said. After the fiasco with Macha, I had already decided that I would say nothing of Stefan. I am unsure how I feel about him. I distrust him; I want him. He flatters me; he seems insincere. He amused me; I am desperate for acceptance. I want to go slow with him; I cannot wait to feel his hands on my body again. I will hold my tongue. I do not want my friends to begin another betting pool.

"What do you mean, brother?" Carver asked anxiously.

"Nothing tragic," I said. "I was injured while helping to prevent a robbery. Solitivus had to put me back together. By the way, Carver, I ruined a pair of your pants."

"You wear your brother's... pants?" Fenris asked. I laughed aloud at the disgust in his voice.

"They were clean," I shrugged. "And they're roomy. Don't look so squeamish, Fenris. I wear my own small clothes... usually. I'm almost completely certain that I was today, at any rate."

"I don't like it when you go to the Gallows without me," Carver said. "You aren't good at 'subtle'."

"This, coming from you?" Fenris replied. "But he has a point, Hawke."

"I know what I'm doing," I said.

"Is that another way of saying 'What could possibly go wrong?'" Varric interjected. "That aside, it's getting late. If you want to do this today, we need to go."

"I couldn't agree more," I said.

It was already past noon and it was turning out to be another hot day. I drained my water bottle, refilled it, and drank deeply again, but my thirst seemed unquenchable. My headache had abated thanks to the draughts Solitivus gave me, but by the time we climbed out of the bowl that is Lowtown, it had returned in full force. I wished Anders was there to ease my suffering, but he was no doubt hip deep in patients.

We reached the Wounded Coast mid-afternoon. Carver was eager to push on, but I had reservations. I was profoundly unwell. My headache had worsened and my guts had begun to rebel. I blamed Stefan's wine for the latter. My companions were not pleased at the idea of making camp before we knew where the Tal-Vashoth were hiding, but even Fenris could see that I was in no condition to push on. We decided to go just a little further and then backtrack to the campsite we used the night we rescued Feynriel.

We met nothing on the path but a few scattered Tal-Vashoth patrols, easily dispatched despite my debilitated state. When we faced enemies, we did so with a plan. We did not need to communicate to make it work. We knew it by rote. Carver rushed in making a lot of noise and drawing our opponents' fire, and Fenris followed, picking them off from the rear. Varric and I hung back, raining a death of crossbow bolts and spells upon them. When the Tal-Vashoth faced us, it was every kossith for himself. They never stood a chance. All I wanted was Anders. I felt it every time I looked to my right and found him not there. Conversation aside, I missed the confidence that came from knowing that no matter what, he had my back in a literal sense. I do not question the others' loyalty. Even Fenris has proven himself to be unassailable in that regard. It's more their physical placement: I like having another mage to back me up.

Late in the day, a voice hailed us from a clifftop.

"Go no further, human!" it called. "You are walking into an ambush."

I groaned and backed up until I could see the man who hailed us. It was a kossith, naturally. An ominous quiver in my bowels advised me that entering combat at this moment would be unwise.

"We are not unprepared," I shouted back, praying that bravado would either discourage the Tal-Vashoth or precipitate a battle brief enough for me to empty my guts in peace.

"So I see," he acknowledged. "I expected merchants, not trackers and warriors. You will find a large group of my kind on the path behind me. It would please me if you killed them."

"And I thought humans were the only ones who betrayed their own people," I replied to Varric, although he must have heard me.

"I am Tal-Vashoth," he said. "I have betrayed my people twice. The ones that lie in wait for you are thieves and murderers. I will not stand with them."

"Then help us fight them!" I entreated him.

"I am worse," he said. "They still cling to the honor they held under the Qun. They will not fight for coin, so they kill travelers and loot their corpses. I will sell my sword and myself. I am a mercenary."

"So that's it?" I was tempted to offer to buy his services, but every moment that passed reminded me that the inevitable could not be forestalled forever. We now knew where the Tal-Vashoth were. It would be prudent to return once my innards had quieted down.

"I have warned you, human. Do what you will."

With that, he left. I heard Varric mutter something witty as I dove into the greenery on the side of the trail, but it was several moments before I could reply.

"I think it's time we made for that campsite," I sighed when I emerged. "I'm done."

"Did anybody remember to pack food?" Varric asked.

"I forgot," I sighed. "I have some dried bread in my pack, but I was too sick to think about eating this morning."

"Don't worry about it, Hawke," Varric said lightly. "I think Bianca wants to talk to some rabbits. Or squirrels. Or whatever other furry thing gets in her crosshairs."

He shot three rabbits and a lizard by the time we reached the campsite. We left the lizard where it lay. Carver said nothing when we reached the site, but he spread out his blanket in the shade and made me lie on it while the others gathered firewood and fetched water. I fell asleep almost immediately.

Darkness had fallen by the time I awoke. Carver was putting a tin cup full of something fragrant in my hands.

"Drink this," he said. "I'm only sorry I didn't think of it before. It's something Anders gave me after the last time you took ill, that day you went to see Adriano. I haven't wanted to give it to you in case you started blowing up more templars, but there's nothing for you to attack out here."

I drank it down. It had a familiar minty taste, the signature of Anders's herbal preparations. Solitivus preferred lemon balm or ginger.

"You don't have to go mad about getting the last few sovereigns this week," he said. "We can hold out a little while longer."

"I don't think we can," I said, lying back to look at the palm leaves waving in the moonlight. "You were right last night when you said -"

"I was angry," he would not let me finish. "I wanted to hurt you."

"That doesn't mean you were wrong," I said. "Gamlen is taking a terrible risk in sheltering us. Me, I should say. If I'm discovered, they'll take me to the circle. I don't want to think about what they'll do to you and Mother."

"The penalty for knowingly sheltering an apostate is death," he said.

"Nobody knows who I am," I said. "If I went to the Gallows and turned myself in, you and Mother would finally be safe."

"Brother, no," he said firmly. "We're Hawkes. We stick together, no matter what."

"You've filled out in the last year," I said. "It suits you."

Varric's call to dinner interrupted our family moment, and not an instant too soon. I was starting to choke up, and emotion would have ruined everything.

"Right," Carver said. "Can you waddle that far on your own or do you want me to bring you something?"

"I'm not an invalid!" I protested, although I did not hesitate to accept that hand he offered in getting up.

The meal Varric prepared was perfect. He had stewed the rabbit in plain water flavored with herbs and thickened the broth with the bread in my pack. It was bland, nourishing, and above all, digestible. It rejuvenated me like nothing else could have done, and by the time dinner had settled, I felt like a new man. I was even able to join the others for a round of Wicked Grace before it became too dark to see the cards.

As darkness truly fell, I found myself alone again, however, sitting on the sand and staring out at the sea as I had done with Anders a few days ago. This time, it was Carver who interrupted my brooding.

"How did you know, brother?" I asked. "The first time you were with a woman, how did you know the time was right?"

"You aren't still hung up about Macha, are you?" he asked.

"No, not at all," I said. "And before you ask, I don't have anyone particular in mind. I just wondered how you knew you were ready to fall in love."

"Love had nothing to do with it," Carver snorted. "It was Sister Geraldine."

"She was a priestess of the Chantry!" I gasped. I could have added that she was ten years older than me, let alone Carver, but I did not want him to think I was judging his taste, even if I questioned his discretion.

"And she knew a thing or two about holy passion, I'll tell you that."

"You didn't love her?"

"Nah. I went in to pay my respects one day and she decided to sample the Hawke mystique. She made my head spin, but she didn't have any use for my heart."

"That's... unfortunate," I said. "It sounds as if she used you."

"Does it matter? She taught me things I never would have learned on my own. A lot of girls have benefited from her tender instruction."

"You think I'm being stupid for waiting."

"Are you really asking my advice?" Carver asked incredulously.

"Yes. I'm not sure about Varric, but you may be the most experienced one here."

"Look, brother," he said, his chest swelling, "it's different for you. You aren't going to get girls who want your body. You'd probably be better off getting them to fall in love with you first."

I hesitated. I wanted to tell him that I had found someone who seemed to want me physically, but I could not. If I told him that much, I would have to tell him about my own ambivalence, and that was not a conversation that Carver and I would have. It was safer to let him continue to think that he had inherited all the charisma in the family and make my mind up on my own about whether or not I wanted a relationship with Stefan.

"You're probably right," I said. "It is pretty hopeless."

"Not impossible, though," he allowed. "You are nicer than me. You'll probably find somebody who likes awkward, underhung men."

"I guess that means this man-to-man is over," I harumphed. I am beginning to suspect that Carver intends his insults as a way to bolster his own confidence when he feels threatened. For him to resort to them at that moment suggested that he saw through my lie that I did not have a specific individual in mind.

"Don't worry, brother," he said. "I'm sure it comforts Mother to know that you'll never leave her."

"I'm sure it does," I agreed.

I sat alone on the sand for a long time after Carver left. He probably thought I was brooding, but my heart was light. I began the day with the belief that I was unwanted and unlovable. No matter what transpires between Stefan and me, I now know that at least half of that assumption was in error. It has been a good day indeed.


	32. Chapter 32: Handle with Care

_AN: BioWare owns everyone but Iain and Stefan. Another long chapter, but the first entry got lonely all by its onesies. This chapter has some m/m together time, but it should still be within the limits of the M rating._

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><p>9:30 Dragon, 2 Cloudreach: Gamlen's hovel, Lowtown<p>

Waiting for something never makes it come any faster. Trying not to think about something makes it impossible to think about anything else. Those are the truths that have occupied my mind today. Those truths and the impatience of waiting to see Stefan, that is.

The Tal-Vashoth did provide a distraction. We found them on the trail the self-proclaimed mercenary pointed out. They were no better organized here than the scattered patrols had been. Qunari are rumored to be fearsome fighters, but based on what we found outside their lair, they might have earned their reputation on appearance alone. Inside their lair was another matter. There, they still fought as individuals rather than as a unit, but their leader whipped them into a frenzy that more than compensated for their lack of cohesion. It was also the first time I had come face-to-mask with a kossith mage. Fenris tells me that the Qunari chain them, calling them saarebas, or "dangerous thing". He says that they considered to be objects, not people. I would have thought that Tal-Vashoth mages would exert more independence and throw off their chains, but the mage we saw was leashed. Perhaps this is what the mercenary kossith meant when he said that the Tal-Vashoth still clung to the roles they held under the Qun. Regardless, by the time the sun reached its zenith, the role that all of them held was "fertilizer".

We began the long walk back to Kirkwall. Several times, I caught myself becoming restless and irritable because our progress was not fast enough. We had all afternoon, Varric said. No matter what time we arrived, we would not be able to summon Javaris to the Qunari enclave before tomorrow morning, so there was little point in rushing. Carver too seemed eager to slow our progress. He insisted on halting our march so that he could swim in a lagoon we passed. I humored him, but I chafed at the delay.

At last, we reached the long road leading down into Lowtown. I could not get home fast enough.

"Weren't you going to send a message to Javaris?" Varric asked as I trotted past the Hanged Man on my way to Quarry Yard.

"I thought you were taking care of that," I said.

"I'll send the messenger," he said, "but you're still going to have to write the message."

"Oh, all right," I sighed, "but I can't stay long."

"What's the matter, Hawke? You got a boat to catch? You've been chafing at the bit all day."

"I need a bath," I said, trying to think of an excuse. "After yesterday, I feel grubby and disgusting."

"Fair enough," he said, "but you can do that at the Hanged Man. I'll even let you use my suite."

"I don't want to inconvenience you," I said. "We'll be meeting with the Arishok tomorrow. I haven't shaved in weeks, and that always takes forever."

"You don't want to inconvenience me?" he laughed. "That's a first! Go on home and get your things. It isn't as if we've got anything better to do this evening."

I hated to admit it, but he had a point. If I took Varric up on his offer, I would have to bathe and shave before I was presentable. If I went home, I would have to make a dozen trips to the well, heat water, and field a hundred questions from Mother... and then bathe and shave. Either way, dusk would fall, the Gallows would be locked, and I would have to wait until morning to see Stefan. The only difference was that if I went home instead of to the tavern, I would not have the others' chatter to distract me while I waited. I did not want to be distracted. If I had to wait, I wanted to wait in peace, not make increasingly annoying conversation and act as if nothing were about to happen. I did not want to have to act normal... although that too was a futile endeavor. Varric already knew I was anxious, even if he did not know why. Mother would know, as well. Questions were inevitable unless I learned how to stop acting like a smitten youth and start behaving like a rational adult with more things to worry about than the organs below his navel.

Mother asked surprisingly few questions, praise the Maker. She wanted to know what injuries Carver and I had sustained this time, but we had agreed on our story before we walked through the door. We told her that we were gathering information, nothing more, and that the bloody gash in Carver's trousers was the result of a cooking accident. She probably knew we were lying, but she did not pursue the matter. Aveline had just arrived with some records regarding the chain of ownership of the Amell estate, so she was not inclined to argue about Carver and I taking our evening meal at the tavern instead of at home. The records went back a few hundred years, so it would likely keep her busy for a while. Aveline herself had no interest in poring over old parchment, so she accompanied us back to the Hanged Man.

Everyone was present tonight - even Merrill - and dinner had just been ordered. I worried about that, but Varric assured me that it was just a few roast chickens. They sat down to hand or two of cards in his dining room while the chambermaid set up a tub for me in his bedroom. They left the door open for a while so that I could participate in their conversation, but Isabela kept trying to sneak into the bedroom for a peek, so eventually, I closed it. I sank back into the hot water and imagined my reunion with Stefan.

He would not be waiting at the dock. I had not told him the hour, and he would have better things to do than stand around all day waiting for the ferry. He would be working in his studio. He probably does not remember that I promised I would come, but he will be glad to see me, anyway. He will put down his brush and embrace me. He will kiss me, and I will...

I do not know what I will do. I am eager to be with him, but I do not know whether I am ready to lie with him. When I was injured and unable to remember what happened to me, Anders had examined me to see what had been done. He spoke of being damaged, being torn apart. Surely, there can be no pleasure in such an act... but people do it willingly. They crave it when they are denied it. The body knows what it wants. When I am hungry, the smell of food is enticing and eating is enjoyable. When I am ill, the smell of food nauseates me and it is all I can do to drink water. At that moment, lying in the bath, I felt no desire to do anything painful. I wanted to see and to touch, but no more. Perhaps that will change when I am with Stefan. Perhaps the pain is avoidable. The afternoon I spent with Macha before I left for the Bone pit was very pleasant indeed. With better planning, I would not mind doing that again. I could live without the laundry stains. Regardless, my bath had grown cold while I pondered choices I might never have to make. I reflected that I had spent the whole of my bath thinking about carnal exploration. I had not thought for one moment about getting to know Stefan better. I did not wonder whether he had a sense of humor or if he liked fishing. I thought only of what we would do once our clothes were off. Forget behaving like a randy youth. I was even thinking like one. I dressed, shaved, and joined the others in Varric's dining room. Solitary reflection was doing me no good.

When I emerged from the bedroom, Anders made room on the bench beside him. I sat down, though I really wanted to talk quietly to Merrill and see how she was faring. She looked well enough. She was talking animatedly to Isabella about something that was making Carver blush. I considered asking her anyway, but decided against it. She seemed to be enjoying herself. If she was lonely, reminding her of it would be cruel.

"How was your trip?" Anders asked.

"My trip?" I replied forgetfully.

"The one you said you weren't going to take for a week? Varric said that you were ill."

"Oh, that. You know how my gut gets. That tonic you gave Carver helped."

"He just gave it to you now? I gave it to him weeks ago! All this time, I've been thinking that you tried it and it didn't work."

"No," I said, "he thought your potion was responsible for my wildness that day. He did not want to risk it when there were people around. What's in it?"

"A little of this and a little of that," Anders said. "I can give you the formula if you want, but I make it up by the gallon for my patients. Staying away from spicy, rich, or greasy food wouldn't hurt."

"My problems are over, then!" I said sarcastically.

The card game resumed after dinner. The stakes were never high, but tonight they were lower than usual. Perhaps my friends understood that the time of departure was drawing nearer and they were saving their coin. Perhaps they only bet high when outsiders joined the table. It did not matter. The game is never more than an excuse to linger and talk or listen as we choose. I usually prefer to listen. Tonight, however, Anders seemed determined to draw me out.

"Are you going to a party, Hawke?" he asked.

"What party would I be going to? Everyone I know is here."

"It's just that you don't usually... bathe in the evening." Anders sounded as if he intended to say something else and changed his mind.

"We will need to go to Qunari compound in the morning," I said. "I didn't want to lose half of the morning just getting clean."

"Brother wanted to make himself pretty for the horn-heads," Carver snorted.

"The Qunari value cleanliness," Fenris said. "They also respect a show of strength. It might be prudent for Aveline and I to accompany you."

"Not going to happen," Aveline said. "I'm up to my elbows in Jeven's mess. It will be months before I can take the morning off for something that trivial."

I nodded and tried not to chuckle at the irony. Aveline is what she is.

In the end, we decided that Fenris, Carver, and Varric would accompany me to the meeting with Javaris and the Arishok. I wracked my brain trying to think of an activity that would take me to the Gallows alone afterward, but I could think of nothing.

"If you have the rest of the day free, we could have another go at that translation," Anders suggested hopefully.

"Or you're welcome to come to the mansion and spar," was Fenris's counter-offer.

What little interest I had in spending the evening in the company of my friends evaporated. I did not want to play cards. I did not want to talk or listen. If I could not see Stefan, I wanted to be alone.

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><p>9:30 Dragon, 3 Cloudreach: Gamlen's hovel, Lowtown<p>

By the Maker, what a day it has been! I never dreamed that it would be possible to feel like I have felt today, but I am reminded once again of how many things I have yet to learn.

I woke before dawn. There is nothing uncommon about that, but today, my nerves woke me even earlier than usual. I took the bathtub down from its peg and filled it with cold water. Never mind that I had bathed in hot water not half a day before. I thought that I would need every shred of confidence I possess, and that involved another bath. Mother came into the kitchen just as I returned from emptying the tub.

"Two baths in one day?" she observed. "There's something you aren't telling me."

"Nonsense, Mother," I lied. "This business deal is very important to me. I don't want to spoil it by making a bad impression."

"Will it be more lucrative than half-shares in a mine?" she countered.

"It would have to be," I snorted. "I've yet to make a bent copper off that arrangement."

"That's my point, dear. I know you're looking for easy coin, and Maker knows how hard it is for me to see you and your brother coming home bruised and battered every day, but you mustn't get your hopes up."

"Don't worry, Mother. I'm getting used to disappointment. That doesn't mean I can't remain hopeful for a little longer, though, does it?"

"Are you taking your brother with you?" she asked.

"I planned to, don't think I should?"

"It was just a question. Did you want breakfast?"

"I probably should eat something. I can get porridge at the Hanged Man. I'm going to have to take the ferry at some point today, and that trip is a lot more pleasant when my stomach is settled."

"The ferry! You aren't planning on going to the Gallows, I hope!"

"I... yes," I fumbled, unable to think of a lie fast enough. "It is necessary, Mother. Don't worry. I got in trouble last time because I got involved where I shouldn't have. I won't do it again."

"Do you expect me to believe that? You're dressed too well for me to believe that you're going there to buy potions. Do you have a lover?"

"No," I said firmly. "I am meeting with the Arishok, the leader of the Qunari here in Kirkwall."

"If you say so, dear," she said, though her smile made it clear that she knew I was lying. "When do you want me to wake Carver?"

"I'll do it," I said. "I'm not waiting around for anyone today."

I shook my brother awake, told him to meet me at the tavern in a quarter of an hour, and left. Fenris arrived at the Hanged Man at the same time I did. We were in time to join Varric for breakfast. Carver arrived as we were finishing our meal. I wanted to set off at once, but Varric persuaded me to wait. Once more, he asked me why I was in such a hurry. Javaris would wait, he said, and the Arishok was not going anywhere. I could only consent with as much grace as I could muster and quietly fume at the delay.

Our postponed departure from the Hanged Man led to additional setbacks on the road to the Docks. When I need to get to the Docks without Varric in the party, I often take the Lowtown ferry, but when he accompanies us, we go on foot. He hates boats of any size, so it is unfair to subject him to any more water travel than is strictly necessary. This time, I wished I had been less accommodating.

The road along the edge of the harbor hugs the cliffs and passes through a narrow choke point not far from the Hightown Causeway. It was here that we encountered a group of templars surrounding a run-down house. They had closed off the road and stood in a semicircle around the door, their swords drawn. Their leader pounded on the door with his armored fist. We were too far away to hear what he said through the door, but his intent was clear. There was a mage within. Nothing happened for several long moments. The templar knocked even more forcefully. Other templars pulled a man out of the crowd - a grocer, judging by the apron he wore - and the lead templar questioned him, pointing at the door and waving across the harbor in the direction of the Gallows. I could not hear what either of them said, but the grocer seemed to be relaying information about the occupants of the house. The leader beckoned two templars forward and they set their shoulders to the door. It burst open, spilling them into the house.

Nothing happened for what felt like forever. A templar finally emerged and spoke with his commander for a few moments. The commander loomed over his subordinate, shouting and gesturing from the street to the roofline. It was easy enough to figure out what had happened. Someone had reported mages sheltering in the house. The templars found nothing and were now conducting a more thorough search. I hoped that it would not take long. We waited for over an hour.

Javaris was not pleased by our delay. His mood did not improve. The Arishok firmly rejected the mere notion of a trade arrangement and hinted that the only way Javaris would see the explosive powder would be if it were unleashed upon him. Given the force of the Arishok's refusal, I was reluctant to press for coin, but desperation forced me to speak. I reminded Javaris of what he had promised. Left to his own devices, Javaris would not have honored his agreement, but the Arishok intervened, saying that if Javaris made promises on his behalf, he could make restitution on his behalf as well. The Arishok may be laconic and unwelcoming, but I admire his logic. I left richer by four sovereigns. I still had to pay my friends, of course, but we had taken enough coin off the Tal-Vashoth to cover that expense.

Fenris proved himself surprisingly helpful throughout the encounter. He impressed the Arishok with his knowledge of their culture and customs, even greeting the warlord with words in his own tongue. I owed our financial gains to him, as well. Without his insight into Qunari honor and sense of responsibility, I would never have pursued the debt Javaris claimed against the Arishok. In all, it ended well. The Arishok now knows that I am a mercenary, but he never believed me to be anything else. I could have done worse. Without Fenris, I probably would have.

I imagined that it would be difficult to persuade my companions to leave after our meeting. It was not. Carver was asking "Are we done now?" almost before we left the Qunari enclave. He did not say where he was going in such a hurry, and I did not ask. Varric had an errand with an agent in another part of the Docks. He invited me to accompany him, though he did not seem surprised when I declined. Fenris was more persistent, but he lost interest when I told him of an invented errand to a fishmonger. He said several unpleasant things about the smell of fish and those who sold them and remembered urgent business in Hightown. I proceeded to the ferry alone... apart from the griffon-sized butterflies that inhabited my stomach.

I endured the ferry ride with as much patience as I could muster. It was not much. I wished that I possessed a small looking glass so that I could reassure myself that I did not have mud on my face or any other humiliating thing, but I owned nothing so frivolous. I told myself that it did not matter, that Stefan had already seen me half-naked and covered in blood. He would not be put off if a few hairs were out of place. I wished that I were a better liar.

I forced myself not to run to his door. When the ferry docked, I debarked in as stately a manner as possible and walked once around the forecourt to shake the kinks out of my legs. Thus limbered, I proceeded to the Gallows Courtyard itself. Two templars stood guard outside Stefan's door. My heart stopped. I almost turned around and went back to the quay, but I had come too far to turn back. I had told Stefan my name. If the templars had learned that I am a mage, they would be waiting at home, too. I might as well confront my fears. They ignored me. Fortunately, so did the templars... until I reached for the door handle.

"Name and business, serah?" one of them said.

"Hawke," I said. "I'm a friend of Stefan's."

"He's busy. Come back later."

"I'm expected," I said. Worry had overcome my sense of self-preservation.

"So's Summerday," the one said.

"He can wait inside," the other contradicted. "Maker knows how much longer they'll be."

"If you say so," the first one shrugged. "Go in, then. Just keep your mouth shut and don't draw attention to yourself."

I went in. Stefan's studio was a sea of templars. In truth, there were only five of them, but they seemed more. Four stood near the window looking bored while the fifth, a hard-faced blond woman, stood at attention in front of a painted backdrop of the Chantry, her sword stuck upright in front of her with her hands poised upon the hilt. From where I stood, I could see Stefan laying broad swaths of color within a sketch-like outline.

"Aren't you done yet?" the woman asked Stefan. "I really do have better things to do with my morning."

"Profoundest apologies, Knight Commander," Stefan said. "I can complete the underpainting between now and your next sitting, which will be..."

"I will send word," she said. Her voice was as cold as her beauty, but perhaps she was only eager to escape the stifling studio. "I cannot help thinking that the atrium of the Templar Hall would be a more fitting site."

"Of course, Knight Commander," Stefan said deferentially, "if your grace would allow the work to remain in situ. Her excellency the Grand Cleric did specify a large-scale portrait for the Viscount's Palace, and moving a canvas of this size while the paint is wet is impossible."

"No, I don't suppose we could lose the use of the room for the duration, more's the pity," she sighed. "Very well, painter, I will notify you when I am at liberty to sit again. Or stand, as the case may be."

Her eyes swept the room as she turned toward the door where I stood.

"And what is this, serah?" she demanded, striding toward another canvas that rested against the wall beside me. Glancing down, I saw my own naked form sprawled across Stefan's couch. "Is the Chantry paying you to indulge your whims... or your lust?"

"A thousand pardons, Knight Commander," Stefan said with smooth confidence. "I neglected to inform you of my latest inspiration. That, reverend ser, I will call 'The Death of Gelgenig the Faithful,' the Ash Warrior who united the Alamarri under the banner of Andraste."

"I know who Gelgenig is, you twit," she snapped. "Better than you, apparently. He died in battle, serah, not lounging in an Antivan seraglio."

"He lies in his tent, Knight-Commander, and he offers his soul to the Maker most reverently. I have not yet painted the background, you see. All will be made plain once the work is complete."

"You are depicting a champion of our faith in the nude, serah!"

"A symbol of his purity, your grace."

"Very well," she said with some reluctance. "I will not confiscate the work, but you will not neglect your commissions for this fancy... and you will wish to donate a portion of the proceeds to the patron that funded your tenure."

"But of course," Stefan agreed.

"And my assistant will come tomorrow and every day until the portrait is complete," she said. "One woman in armor looks much like another. You can paint her until it is time to do the face."

"You are most gracious," Stefan said, though I could see the tension in his mouth.

The woman looked up from the painting. Our eyes met. Her gaze was like an icicle through the heart. She regarded me for a moment, looked down at the painting, then snorted and left through the hastily-opened door, her templars trailing in her wake.

"Arrogant harpy," Stefan sneered once the door closed behind her entourage. "I hope she falls on her own Sword of Mercy."

I allowed myself to exhale.

"Hello, Stefan," I said.

He threw his arms around me and kissed me soundly.

"Welcome back!" he said more joyfully. "I did not expect you until tomorrow."

"I said... I would be back... on the third day," I said around his kisses.

"And you left the day before yesterday, no?" he grinned, breaking our embrace long enough to undo my belt. "Today is the second day, not the third."

"You're right!" I laughed. "I counted the day I left as the first day. I guess I knew even then that it would seem like longer than it was."

"It seemed an eternity!" he agreed. I let him open the front of my tunic and run his hands under my shirt. "And you have become overheated. Come, make yourself comfortable. I have wine chilling even now."

"Don't you think it's a little early for wine?" I asked. "And I'm not taking a stitch off unless you do the same. Fair is fair."

"If you want to skip straight to the love making, I will not complain" he said, his hands on the hem of his own tunic.

"Slow down, Stefan!" I laughed, taking his hands and kissing them. "I missed you, but I'm parched. Let me have some water and we'll talk. I have much to tell you."

"And I am eager to hear all of it!" he said, pouring water for me and wine for himself.

"And you have much to tell me," I said. "Why was the Knight-Commander so upset about your painting? Apart from the nudity."

"I should never have accepted the Chantry as a patron," he said. "When an artist is in need of a sponsor, he exhibits his work in galleries or displays them before the nobility in hopes of attracting interest. These benefactors provide food, shelter, and materials, but little else. It is usual for an artist to sell non-commissioned paintings to supplement his income. Most sponsors realize this and allow their dependents the liberty to rebuild their portfolios before their patronage ends. Not so with the Chantry. They have me painting every moment of every day, and now, with my internment here almost over, I have nothing to show prospective employers and nothing to sell once my time here is done. I will be begging in the street or worse."

"Surely, they must know that you need paintings to sell! I mean, I didn't know it, but the Chantry has employed many artists over the years. They must know how it works."

"The Chantry is not known for its charity," he all but spat. "They ask donations from beggars, my love. I have seen when my travels take me to Lowtown. If they would take a pauper's last coin, what do they care if a poor artist starves?"

"And now I've made life even harder for you," I sighed. "If I had waited outside, she never would have seen that painting and she wouldn't be sending her assistant by every day to make you finish her portrait faster."

"She would have seen it. I carelessly left it uncovered by the door. Had I been more careful, I would have put it out of sight. But never fear. All hope is not lost. She has sent her assistant in her stead before. She comes once her other duties are done, usually in the later part of the afternoon. Were I to work on her portrait in solitude, I would have finished it before a fortnight was out. Now, I will work only when her assistant is present. It will drag on for months!"

"Won't she suspect that you're stalling?"

"How will she know? Her assistant knows less of art than she. And in the meantime, you will come every morning, and I will paint you all day, and I will have paintings to show after all. See, I knew it would end well!"

"But I can't come every day," I said. "I will come when I can, but as you say, I lead an adventurous life. Do you have any other subjects you can call on?"

"Some, perhaps," he admitted. "And I can always make sketches in a number of poses and save the details for later. I need no more than two or three good pieces. In truth, 'Gelgenig' alone may be enough. You don't mind sitting for me, do you?"

"No, I suppose not. I... Stefan, are you really planning on me posing nude?"

"Are you ashamed of your body?"

"No, but... What if someone recognizes me?"

"You have friends among the Kirkwall elite?"

"No, but -"

"Then no one will see," he said. "Besides, it is art. Beauty is in the form, in the play of light and shade. My master painted no fewer than four nude Andrastes, and the model for one of them was a marquesa - countess, as you would say. A lovely woman, by the way. Come now, undress and let us get on with it. We all must suffer for art, I'm told."

"And you will suffer greatly?" I asked, grinning.

"You cannot have it both ways," he said, returning my smile. "Either you must believe that I cringe at the sight of you or you must accept that you are worth looking at."

"You sound like my friend Anders," I said with a pang. I felt guilty for a moment, unsure that I was doing the right thing. Anders had made a special point of inviting me to spend time with him. He wanted to share the only thing he had to give, and I lied to him. On the other hand, Stefan was willing to give me something that Anders would not: himself.

"Is he your lover?"

"Haven't you asked me this before? He is a good friend. Nothing more."

"But you wish it was him with you now, not me. Do not be ashamed. You are not the first man who has wanted someone he could not have. Does he belong to another?"

"In a manner of speaking," I said. "It's complicated. I admit that he's the one I meant when I said that I've been attracted to men before, but please don't let that discourage you. I'm here because I want to be. I want to be with you."

"And I want to be with you! Why are you still dressed?"

"I thought you wanted to paint!"

"That, too, requires the removal of your clothing. Do not be shy, my love. There is no fault to find."

I complied with his request. It felt strange, lying naked on his couch while he remained fully clothed. The cushions were still damp, though they were no longer bloody. He must have had them laundered, despite the cost. I tried to relax and think of nothing, but my memory kept going back to the day before yesterday and the intimacy we shared.

"You came here eager to tell me of your day," he reminded me.

"You don't need me to be motionless?"

"I need you to relax. Gelgenig accepted his fate, but with less eager anticipation, no?"

"I can't help it," I sighed. "This is new to me. Can't you just paint me... um... in repose?"

He put down his brushes and walked toward me, shedding his clothing along the way. When he sat beside me, he was as naked as me, and much more beautiful to look upon. His dark skin was rich and varied in tone, deeper-hued in the hollows, lighter where muscles swelled and stretched it. The Maker had provided him with a wealth of ebony body hair that invited my touch. I tried to confine myself to looking at his face, but that was impossible. Nor did he mind my attention, it seemed. He lay down on the couch beside me and put his arms around me. I shuddered and returned his embrace.

"We will both be the better for it," he said. I tasted wine in his kiss. My head spun in answer, but it had nothing to do with alcohol. He caressed my neck and shoulders. I did the same to him. Like Anders, Stefan's frame is more slender than mine, but his proportions are appealing. I grew more and more familiar with them as we stroked each other. I soon abandoned even the attempted control of my libido. If he wanted to rouse me, I was roused. I seemed to be having the same effect on him. I felt him against my body and began to panic. I wanted him desperately, but I was still very fearful. I craved his touch, but I dreaded the pain. He ran his hand down my back and pulled our hips together. I moaned, unable to articulate my desire or my fear. There was no need.

"Slowly, gently, my love," he said. "You have never tasted these delights. You must savor each mouthful."

He took us both in his hand and showed me his version of restraint. It was still more than I could bear. To my shame, I did not last three heartbeats.

"Hush, hush," he soothed my embarrassment with soft words. "The first rush of passion is always soon spent. Be easy, and learn what it is to have someone under your spell."

I winced at his choice of words, but I made no comment. He was using a metaphor, not speaking of literal thralldom or blood magic.

"What should I do?" I asked stupidly.

"Touch," he urged. "Explore. Do what you will; it all feels like paradise."

"Will I be able to..." I paused, grasping for a polite way to phrase what I wanted to say. "Will I be able to make you feel what I just felt?"

"In time, perhaps," he said enigmatically, "but I will try to hold back. There is another much greater pleasure I want to show you before our golden hour is past."

I obeyed. He closed his eyes and accepted my caresses with obvious enjoyment. I began to understand his objective. Any self-consciousness I might have felt about our mutual nudity was gone, and I began to accept the physical sensation of his body beside mine with the same degree of ease. The sounds he made at my touch thrilled me beyond mere erotic aches and tingles. The extent of the control I held over him was intimate in ways I never imagined. It was a kind of power, and I found myself responding to it with renewed arousal.

"Use your lips," he breathed. I obeyed, hesitantly at first. The sensation of caressing someone like this was alien, but incredibly stirring – to me as well as him. It was odd, feeling the changes his body underwent as he moved inexorably to completion. It was strange, but it was also familiar. I have felt these things many times against my own palm and knew when he had reached the end of his endurance, but to perceive them without the accompanying twinges in my own body was fascinating... as was the eventual outcome. Another first.

"My turn," he said once he had caught his breath. I allowed it. I could hardly deny him the thrill of doing to me what I had just done to him... and then he started. I expected it to be like before, an intense few moments followed by a swift release. He had better control than that. He coaxed me along, holding me on the edge until he was ready to end it. By the time he was done, I was gripping his hair and screaming for the Maker. Had I ejected a kidney in the process, it would not have surprised me. I clung to him in the wake of our passion, kissing him and gasping for breath and trying to comprehend what I had just experienced. He chuckled at my exuberance and held me tenderly, stroking my hair and telling me over and over how beautiful I was and how happy I had made him. Finally, I grew calm and he gently disentangled his limbs.

"You will be easy now, yes?" he asked, smiling slyly.

"Now and forevermore!" I replied. "I am utterly sated."

"Oh, I do not think it will last that long," he said sagely. "The first cut is always the most keenly felt, but you are young and strong. You would be ready again by evening, if you had a mind to stay."

"The first..." I stammered. I felt panic rising again. "Was that... am I still..."

"Are you still a virgin?" he asked for me. "That depends on who you ask, as you would say. Most of the time, when men make love, they do what we just did."

"So, I'm not?" I felt a peculiar sense of loss. I could not deny that I wanted everything that had just happened – everything that I had done – but Stefan and I are almost strangers, despite what we just shared. I wanted more. I wanted to be in love.

"Some would say no," he said. "Some would say that reciprocal pleasure is all that is required to rid oneself of that burden. Others would disagree. They would have you believe that a barrier must be breached. They would call a man a virgin who has not yet been inside another or had another inside him."

"Inside," I repeated. "You mean... Doesn't that hurt?"

"That too depends on who you ask," he said, still smiling in amusement. "Is it your wish to speak of that now?"

"What do you believe?" I heard myself ask. "Am I or aren't I?"

"You tell me," he said in return. "Do you feel truly initiated into the mysteries of my body? Do you feel truly initiated into the mysteries of your own?"

"No. Almost, but not quite. I think I need to feel what it's like to... you know."

"If you can't say it, you aren't ready to do it," he said gently. "And that is why I say that you are still a virgin. You believe there is more to be had and you want it, but you are not yet ready."

"What if I never am?"

"Then you never are," he said, kissing me gently. "As I said, we have done what most men do when they seek to please one another. We can enjoy each other's company whether we go further or not."

"And in bed or out of it," I added, slapping him playfully on the buttock. "You have a painting to work on, if I recall correctly."

"And you promised to tell me of your adventures," he answered, getting up and retrieving his trousers from under the bed. "You talk; I will paint."

And talk I did, despite the not-unexpected lethargy that had stolen over me. I felt happier and more content than I have felt in a long, long time, and I almost ceased worrying about whether I was or was not in love. At that moment, it no longer mattered. I was with Stefan. He did not want me to give him money, perform difficult or dangerous tasks for him, save him from anything, or otherwise be a hero. He wanted nothing but my company.

It was not until later, on the ferry back to Lowtown, that I realized that Stefan placed demands on me just like everyone else. They were simply better-hidden. He wanted my company all of the time. He did not want to hear about chores or responsibilities or about the necessity of raising coin in order to provide for my family. As sundown approached, he became more and more emphatic that I should spend the night with him. He swore that he would not pressure me to become more intimate with him than I wanted to become, but pressure me he did, just not about sex. Unlike many others I know, he is more interested in me than he is in what I can do for him, but his interest borders on obsession. I find myself wondering why he speaks of no other friends. I find myself wondering why he speaks of little beyond his work, my interests, and his attraction to me.

Stefan does interest me. He is intelligent and sensitive and makes me feel very good about myself when I am with him. After Macha, I needed that boost, but I wonder what will happen once the novelty wears off. He threw himself at me and I took him up, but I wonder what will happen when another catches his fancy. I would be a fool to think that I am the only man to have caught his fancy.

I am probably making too much of this. When Father was dying, he told me that people enter our lives because they have some purpose to fulfil. He said that people would come and go, and that the loss of some would cause me great pain. It was natural to mourn, he said, but it was important to meditate upon the lesson we were supposed to learn from them. At the time, I thought he was talking about his own impending death, but now that I find myself facing the possibility that yet another lover may prove to be only a temporary companion, I wonder if he was talking more about the living, about people who would leave my life for reasons less imperative than the will of the Maker. Maybe he was trying to teach me to live for the present and let go without bitterness. Or maybe he was just saying goodby.

For now, it is probably prudent to assume that Father knew what he was talking about. I am finding joy and acceptance in Stefan's arms, even if is not forever. We will soon have enough coin for the expedition. If he remains constant after weeks of separation, perhaps we do have a future together. Stranger things have happened. If he does not, I will have to reread this and think again about what Father said. At the very least, I have a skilled and handsome lover to entertain me in the meantime.


	33. Chapter 33: Unbidden Rescue

_AN: BioWare owns everybody but Iain and a few incidental characters here and there. And I've figured out what's wrong with the last few chapters. Too long and not enough Anders. There still isn't enough Anders in this chapter, but it is shorter and it moves faster. More mage together time next installment, I promise._

* * *

><p>9:30 Dragon, 3 Cloudreach: Our usual campsite, the Wounded Coast<p>

I awoke to the sound of women's voices in the kitchen. The louder was unmistakably Aveline's. Mother was telling her that I was still sleeping and that she should not wake me, but Aveline was having none of it. The bedroom door slammed open. I did not even try to cover myself. I was wedged in between Peaches and Wallace and could not have moved if I wanted to, but more importantly, I am growing tired of people trying to wrong-foot me by playing on my modesty. If they want an eyeful of small clothes, they are welcome to it. Aveline brandished a piece of parchment in front of me.

"Get dressed, Hawke," she said. "We're going to Viscount's Keep."

"Get lost, Aveline," Carver said from the bunk above mine. "Some people are trying to sleep."

"Some people need to get off their asses!" she shot back.

I struggled out from between my pets and pointed at the door. Aveline stared. I belatedly remembered why standing up so soon after waking was ill-advised.

"Out, Aveline," I said. "I need to piss."

She opened her mouth, closed it, and left, closing the door behind her. I joined them in the kitchen a few moments later.

"I can't go to the Keep today," I said. "There's something I have to do."

"You can and you will, Hawke," Aveline insisted. "The viscount's son is missing."

"If he's in the keep, he isn't missing."

"He isn't in the keep," Aveline said. "The viscount is frantic. He has notices up all over Hightown. I found this one in the market."

"You know I don't mind assisting the guard, but this is really not the best day for it. I have plans."

"What plans could you possibly have?" she asked.

It was my turn to stare.

"Please tell me that you people don't really take me for granted that much," I said.

"Hawke. You know that's not what I meant."

"On the contrary, that is _exactly_ what you meant. Aveline, I appreciate your interest in making sure that everyone gets tucked in at night, but the viscount's son is not a child. He's the same age I was when Father died. If foul play were suspected, you and your men would be scouring the Free Marches. You would not be waking me up and accusing me of not having a life."

"How soon can you be ready to go?" she asked.

"I only need to grab my staff," I sighed. There is no arguing with some people. "Is this errand going to take all day?"

"Probably. If I knew where he was, I would not need your help."

"Then we have an errand to run before we get to the keep. No buts. It will not take long."

She said nothing as we walked to the ferry. Then, the questions started.

"You're going to the Docks?" she asked.

"Yes. And then to the Gallows."

"The Gallows! You aren't in some kind of trouble, are you?"

"If I were, I would not be going to the Gallows. This may surprise you, Aveline, but there are things in my life that you don't know about."

"Evidently."

"And one more thing. You don't talk about this to anyone. Understood?"

"You're awfully mysterious this morning. What are you hiding?"

"You'll find out soon enough. I'm serious, Aveline. Not one word. I need your solemn promise."

"Now you've really got my curiosity going. Very well, Hawke. I promise."

She did not say much on the way to the Gallows. She must have known that I was annoyed with her. I would say that she was finally starting to respect me as leader of our little band, but knowing Aveline, she probably just thought I was cranky.

I tried to persuade her to wait on the dock, but having come this far, she wanted to know everything. In all fairness, I could not blame her. Had she been so secretive, I would have followed her, too. I cursed my lack of foresight. I could have told her that I would meet her at the keep instead. Perhaps it was better that Aveline _did_ find out about Stefan. I can trust her to keep her word, and with the expedition drawing ever closer, it might be advisable for someone else to know about my lover in case I do not make it back.

Stefan's door was closed, but there were no templars waiting outside. Were I alone, I would have opened the door and walked in, but as I had Aveline in tow, I knocked. Stefan's sleepy voice instructed me to enter. I braced myself for embarrassment and obeyed.

Stefan was lying on his couch, his body covered in blankets. I prayed that he was not naked, but my fears proved groundless a moment later when he sprang up and ran to embrace me, babbling surprise at my early arrival. I felt him tense.

"Well!" Aveline said behind me.

"Your... friend?" Stefan asked, pulling away from me.

"Some days more than others," I replied. "Stefan, this is Aveline. She helped my family escape Lothering. Aveline, this is Stefan. You can probably figure out where we stand."

"Honestly, Hawke, I had no idea," she said. It was probably the closest thing to an apology I was likely to get.

"I am... pleased... to meet your friend, Iain," Stefan said, "but I thought we were spending the day alone."

"So did I," I replied, "but I'm going to have to postpone our visit, I'm afraid. You know that my time is not always my own."

"No!" he protested. "Surely, this business of yours can be put off until another day."

"I'm sorry, but it can't," I said. "I'll come tomorrow. This won't take more than one day, will it Aveline?"

She did not answer.

"Aveline?" I repeated. Silence. I turned. She stood where she had been, her eyes fixed on a spot to my right. I followed her gaze to Stefan's easel. "Death of Gelgenig" was far from finished, but Stefan had filled in many of the details. My face was easily recognizable, among other features that Aveline would not know by sight.

"Maker's breath, Hawke," she said. "I had no idea you were so... uninhibited."

"Don't act so surprised, Aveline," I snapped. "That is what you wanted to see, isn't it? Why else would you barge into my bedroom twice a week?"

"Not anymore, I don't!" she said, shaking her head and looking away, her face scarlet. "I'll just wait outside while you say your goodbyes."

Once Aveline was gone, I kissed Stefan with what I hoped was passion enough to sustain him until my return.

"I am sorry, Stefan," I said once our lips parted. "I would much rather spend the day with you, but you see how it is."

"Does this sort of thing happen to you often?" he asked.

"Yes, unfortunately. Listen, Stefan, Aveline has not yet told me how long this mission of hers will take. I want to promise that I will come tomorrow, but it may be that we will need to leave Kirkwall. If we do, I may be away for a day or two. Will you be alright while I'm gone?"

"Your absence will cut me to the heart," he sighed, "but what choice do I have?"

"What choice do any of us have? Believe me when I tell you that I will return as soon as I possibly can. I swear it."

"Even if it is near sundown?" he asked hopefully.

"Even if it is near sundown," I said, smiling. "Kiss me goodbye, Stefan. The sooner I leave, the sooner I will return."

His kiss made it even harder to leave, but we both knew that I had no choice. I embraced him once more on the threshold and walked with Aveline back to the ferry.

"So," she said brightly as we crossed the harbor, "I see you've been keeping busy. I thought Carver was the one who couldn't keep his mind on his work."

"If I had trouble keeping my mind on my work, I would not have left."

"Fair enough. How long has this been going on?"

"Not long," I said. "You _will_ keep what you've seen and heard to yourself, I trust. After the fiasco with Macha, I would prefer to keep my private life private. At least until we've found our footing."

"So, you and he haven't..."

"That's personal. And I don't want to hear about any more betting pools."

"There's no point in betting against myself, is there?" she said with a hint of a smile in her voice. "And I'll take that as a 'no'."

"Take it as whatever you want," I said. "But thank you. It's difficult enough trying to live a normal life without exposing every detail to scrutiny."

"From what I've seen this morning, you don't seem to be too shy about exposing yourself to anything."

"Was that a joke, Aveline?" I chuckled. "I didn't think you had it in you!"

"I don't scowl _all_ the time," she said, laughing with me. "But you'd better keep that on the hush, as well. Maker knows what would happen if word of that got out."

At the Viscount's Keep, Seneschal Bran was his usual officious self. He was even more haughty and unpleasant than he had been on my last visit, although that may have been due to the interview he was concluding as we arrived. He was relaying the details of the reward to a woman named Ginnis who represented the Winters, a mercenary company with an evil reputation, according to Aveline. I would have thought he would have been grateful to deal with us instead, but his manner was even more condescending than it had been with Ginnis. At first, I wrote it off as embarrassment to be found so inept at managing the viscount's household, but it soon became apparent that he was uncomfortable speaking to Aveline. She questioned him openly about why he chose not to involve the Guard in something he described as an abduction, and was informed that the situation was too sensitive to trust to conventional channels. He made numerous references to public appearances, official sanction, and ill-considered allegiances, but the gist of the matter was that the boy's "abduction" may have been more voluntary than Seneschal Bran was willing to admit. Viscount Dumar's son, Seamus, was suspected of being a Qunari sympathizer, and the seneschal was uneasy about how this would reflect on the viscount's image. The important part was that the job paid well. The boy was last seen near a fishing village on the Wounded Coast. I begin to wonder if I am ever going to get the sand out of my boots.

After a stop at the barracks for Aveline to pick up here things and a stop at home to pick up mine, we went to the Hanged Man to see who was interested in a jaunt. Isabela jumped at the offer even before I finished saying that I would need to leave Kirkwall.

"I haven't been anywhere in ages," she explained.

Not surprisingly, Carver volunteered as soon as he learned that Isabela was going. I shook my head at his obliviousness. Isabela likes a challenge. Carver offers none, so she is indifferent toward him. I cannot blame him for his optimism, however unfounded it may be. Had I any reason to suspect someone would willingly bed me when I was his age, I might have behaved the same.

"Any sign of Fenris?" I asked. Isabela snorted.

"I wouldn't expect to see the broody one this early," Varric laughed. "Not after last night."

"I always miss all the fun," I said, rolling my eyes. "How about Anders? Don't tell me _he_ drank himself sick."

"He went off to the Bone Pit," Carver said.

"A runner came in half an hour ago," Varric explained. "There's been a collapse. He went there to help who he could."

As far as I was concerned, Varric's words changed everything.

"Sorry, Aveline, but this trip is going to have to wait," I said.

"You can't be serious, Hawke!" Aveline protested. "You gave your word."

"I own that mine," I said. "Those men are my responsibility."

"That's very noble of you, Hawke," she said, "but how could standing around and wringing your hands possibly help them? You're no healer."

"I've healed you before," I said indignantly.

"Yes, and you healed Wesley, too," she said. My jaw hit my chest with a thud. Even Varric winced, and he only had the story second-hand.

My mind went back to Father's death. I saw myself standing at his bedside, powerless. I tried spell upon spell, exhausting myself until I was too weak to stand, but I could do nothing more for him than block the pain. I remembered my family's faces. Each of them was sure there was one more thing I could try. Carver and Bethany were hopeful right up until the end, but Mother knew he was dying. She did not speak to me for three months after his death. Maybe she thought I was deliberately holding back.

"The darkspawn killed Wesley, Aveline," Carver said, his face stony. "Don't blame that on my brother."

"I know, Carver," she said. "I'm not accusing you, Hawke. I know you mean well. You want to help everyone, and that's one of the things I like about you, but there are some things you just can't do. Anders can. He and I have our differences, but he's a damned good healer. You should go where your talents are most useful. We need to find Seamus before it's too late."

My heart sank even further. She was right and it irked me. I can mend scrapes and bruises, but life-threatening injuries that Anders can heal with ease are well beyond me. I do have a strong back to clear the rubble, but I am not the only one who does. It gave me an idea.

"Would you mind going over there, Varric?" I asked. "Hire a few dockworkers for the day - I'll reimburse you - and get them to help with the digging and lifting. And if it looks like the accident happened because of inadequate shoring, make the arrangements for supplies and I'll see that it's paid for."

"Shoring?" Varric said. "I'm no miner, Hawke. I'll go, but if they need something, they're going to have to tell me. I don't have a head for that shit."

"Talk to Jansen," I said. "He'll know what needs to be done."

"Don't mean to rain on your picnic, but have you even got the money to pay for all this? You're not exactly rolling in coin."

"Dockworkers get two silver a day, and timber is cheap enough," I said. "Either way, it's less costly than paying widows' benefits for the next twenty years."

"Widows' benefits?" he scoffed. "What do you think this is? Ferelden?"

The tension was broken, but the accident at the mine and the reminder of past failures soured my mood. I followed the others out into the street and bid Varric farewell with a clap on the shoulder. My vocal chords did not want to cooperate.

Any enthusiasm I had for our current expedition may have been gone, but Isabela was in rare high spirits. She taunted Aveline mercilessly, calling her "Lady Man-Hands" and otherwise implying that she was the most masculine among us. Carver bristled, but I let it go. Aveline seemed to be enjoying the insult-flinging as much as Isabela, calling her a whore, et cetera, so I left them to it. With the pair of them being catty with each other, neither one of them seemed to feel the need to talk to me.

We found Seamus Dumar on his knees beside the bloodied body of a kossith warrior, his arms raised as if warding off a blow. Even without seeing more than the corner of her chin, I could tell that the woman in front of him was Ginnis. Her slim, whiplike frame was unmistakable, as was the razor-stubble on the part of her jaw I could see. Isabela would not have been teasing Aveline earlier had she seen the leader of the Winters at Viscount's Keep. Or maybe she would have. Isabela is unlikely to pass up any opportunity to needle Aveline, regardless of the reason.

We were too far away to hear Seamus's words clearly, but it sounded as if he was cursing at Ginnis in the Qunari language. Ginnis reacted as if he had. By that time, we were close enough to hear her threaten to cut out his tongue. If she was planning on doing it, she never had the chance. My spell caught her squarely in the back and sent her flying.

The first fight that followed was short, but intense. We were all bloody by the end of it, but we were still standing and ready for more, which was fortunate because that was precisely what we got. Seamus reacted poorly to the violence. I tried to encourage him, but mostly, I wanted him to keep his head down. The next wave was upon us almost before I had time to heal the knife wound that Isabela had sustained. Ginnis had not been exaggerating when she said that more were on the way. We fought for what felt like hours, and we took very heavy damage. I tried to conserve my spells, but I still had pitifully little mana left when the fighting at last was over.

"You couldn't have hidden behind a rock, Hawke?" Aveline asked as she and Isabela pulled the arrows out of my legs. I had been sensible enough to keep out of range of their melee fighters, but their archers made a pincushion of me. Nothing vital was pierced, but as I had neglected to bring any potions, I was in for an uncomfortable night. We would all have to live with our injuries until morning. I neglected to bring provisions as well, but it made little difference as none of us had enough energy to cook anything. We raided the Winters' packs for trail rations and any valuables that did not escape Isabela's notice. We made a pretty good haul of it, all things considered. The Winters might have been a foul, unsavory lot, but they were paid well.

Seamus seemed to be taking things very badly. The blood upset him greatly, and he seemed to have trouble believing that we were not more dangerous to him than the Winters. I drew him aside from the others and tried to reassure him.

"Are there any special rites we should observe for your friend?" I asked, hoping that he would interpret my concern as a sign of our good intentions.

"The Qunari do not believe that such things are necessary," Seamus said. "After death, the body is an empty shell and deserves no special treatment."

"As you wish. I am sorry for your loss. You were close."

"The Qunari are not monsters," he said with audible feeling.

"No, but few understand them as you do."

"We have so much to learn from them," Seamus said. "I have so many doubts. Qunari have none."

"I know how you feel," I sighed, trying to get more comfortable on the sand. My legs were beginning to throb, but there was nothing I could do about the pain.

"You do?" he seemed genuinely surprised. "You seem so capable."

"That doesn't mean I never wonder if I'm doing the right thing. It's fine to have a sense of purpose, but it shouldn't make you blind."

"Try telling that to my father," he said bitterly.

"Your father's only human. He wants what he thinks is best for you, even if he comes across as being too strict."

"He's trying to save face. He doesn't want people to know that he's as much of a pawn as the rest of us."

"He loves you, Seamus. It's hard to know why our parents do what they do. They probably think the same thing about us."

"I'll have to go back there, won't I?" he asked resignedly.

"Yes. You're going to have to be patient, I'm afraid. You will have a chance to find your own way, but Maker willing, that won't happen until you're ready."

"Will you talk to my father? Get him to loosen up on the reins a bit?"

"That's something I won't do," I said gently. "You and your father are going to have to work things out on your own."

"But you said -"

"He'll have more confidence in your decisions if you talk to him man to man," I explained.

"He'll say no."

"Not forever, he won't. Once he sees that you accept setbacks with maturity and good grace, he'll be more willing to accept that you aren't a child anymore."

"You make it all sound so easy," he sighed.

"I know that it isn't. What would your Ashaad have said?"

"_Maaras shokra_," he said. "_Asit tal-eb_. There is no struggle. It is to be."

"There you have it. Now give me a hand. My bedroll is a long way away and these legs aren't going to make it that far on their own."

In the end, I had to ask him to fetch my bedroll and leave me to sleep where we talked. Aveline came over to ask if I wanted her to carry me back to the others despite her wounded elbow, but I declined. I was well within earshot if trouble arose, and my pride would not allow her to sling me over her shoulder a second time. It had been bad enough the night she carried me home drunk from Fenris's mansion. Later, Carver came over to repeat the offer and ask me how many volumes I intended to fill with my drivel.

After that, nobody bothered me and I was free to think. I had a lot to think about.

Aveline's reminder about Fenris made me recall that I have yet to make good on my promise to spar with him. I feel guilty about it. He keeps extending his hand in friendship and I keep pushing it away to pursue my latest obsession, which in this case, means Stefan. Would he blame me if he knew what I was getting out of it? Possibly, and with good reason. Ignoring a friend for the sake of my libido is reprehensible, even if it is understandable. When I return to Kirkwall, I will keep my promise to Fenris. I promised Stefan a visit immediately upon my return, but after that, I will go see him.

And I owe Anders the same courtesy, and Varric, and Merrill, too. My social obligations are staggering. Before I came to Kirkwall, the most gregarious thing I did was take the pigs to market. I went to a fair once, but I knew no one there and felt awkward and out of place. Now, friends occupy my thoughts every moment of the day. It is far more satisfying than solitude, but I would not mind an evening at home with a book once in a while.

As I conclude my writing for the day, my thoughts return to Anders. I wonder how exhausted he must be, and how many miners needed saving. Varric would have told him that we left without him. I hope he does not interpret that to mean that I no longer desire his company. To my shame, I have given him no reason to think otherwise. I made it clear enough the night before last that I would rather be alone than spend time with him, and I have not seen him since. This is only the sixth day since we met that we have not spent at least part of the day together, and I feel his absence. All day long, I kept turning to point out some curious rock formation or ask him about some plant, and all day long, I've been surprised to find him not there. Even now, I wait for him to walk up to me and remind me that I need sleep. How long ago it was that we lay on that Sundermount hillside and looked up at the stars. How I ache to return to that night. Since then, I have experienced things with others that he and I will never share, but I cannot dispel the feeling that I will never know greater intimacy than what we had. It is inevitable, I suppose, that I must seek someone who can accept my love, and it would not be fair to that person if I held back because someone else once touched my life, but this knowledge comes with a profound sense of loss.

Seamus must learn to live without the guidance of his Ashaad, and I must learn to live with the knowledge that I must one day let someone into my heart who is not Anders. We all have to grow up sometime.


	34. Chapter 34: Trust

9:30 Dragon, 5 Cloudreach: Stefan's studio, the Gallows

We were all surprised to find a templar waiting for us at the cave entrance. Fenris suggested allowing Varric to take him out from a distance, but since the templar was Ser Thrask, I decided to see what he wanted before killing him. We had already decided that we would fight back if necessary. There was no need for murder.

In the interest of caution, I approached him with only Fenris at my side. Varric and Anders had positioned themselves behind cover, Bianca and spells trained on the templar. His friendly greeting reassured me that my life was not in danger. I waved for Varric and Anders to join us while Thrask explained the reason for his message. Ariani had told him that I had delivered Feynriel to the Dalish - which afforded me a satisfied smirk at Anders for having guessed that their relationship had continued - and he wanted my help in another matter. Apparently, a fire destroyed the Starkhaven Circle and a handful of escapees had taken shelter inside the cave. He had learned that a strike force would be departing from Kirkwall at dawn to deal with them, and given the brutality of the leader, Ser Karras, and the remoteness of the location, he feared that if the mages resisted, it would turn into a slaughter. I had reservations about assisting the templars in their mage hunting, but if I refused to involve myself, the cornered mages would be slain. I myself would prefer death to life in a Circle prison, but I have no right to decide the fate of others. At the very least, I could warn them. If the cave had a back exit, I could help them to flee... and if it did not, I could help them fight back, if that was what they wanted.

We encountered heavy resistance from the moment we entered the cave. I barely had time to take the canvas cover off of my father's staff before we were assaulted by the animated dead. Blood magic could tear the Veil enough to allow demons to enter our world, Anders said. With no willing host, these demons would inhabit corpses and attack the living. Given the number of bones lying around, we were lucky it was not worse.

We were able to rescue one boy right away. We found Alain beset by skeletons and overwhelmed. After we dealt with his attackers, he was only too happy to surrender to us, even if it meant recapture by the templars. He gave me a little information about his leader, the blood mage Decimus, before we sent him out to Ser Thrask.

Later, I tried to tell myself that I was doing what Alain wanted, that some people prefer the order and security the Circle provides, but as of this moment, I fear that I failed the boy. He seemed like a rational, conscientious young man, well able to resist the false promises of demons even without a templar standing over his shoulder. Had I encouraged him to come with us instead, he would have been free as well... but what is done is done. I had no foreknowledge to rely on, and Alain asked to be returned to the Circle. The best I can do now is remind myself that by going with Thrask, he was exercising his own free will. That is what we are striving for, not mandatory liberation for all mages whether they want it or not. If I write it often enough, maybe one day, I will start to believe it.

No one really expected Decimus to go quietly. Alain had warned us that the man was a blood mage of the first magnitude, that he would enlist any manner of spell or demon to avoid recapture, and he did put up a monster of a fight. We all took heavy damage, but Anders came out the worst of it. A blast of energy in the first few moments sent him flying, and he lay unmoving on the cavern floor. I fought my way to his side, dreading what I would find, but he was still breathing, thank the Maker. I wanted to heal him instantly, but I could not afford the distraction while we were still battling for our lives. I did hold back on my spells, however. I needed to reserve enough mana to heal him.

Decimus did not hold back. Perhaps he thought we were working on behalf of the templars. Perhaps he was frightened. Or perhaps he was merely tired of running. I had come to the cove with the same thought in mind, and had the templar been anyone other than Ser Thrask, I would have struck just as blindly as Decimus was doing now.

We won in the end, of course. I healed Anders and he patched up everyone else while I spoke with the survivors. There were few of them. Of the fifteen who had fled with Decimus, barely half a dozen were left.

Grace, Decimus's lover, reviled me. She accused me of being a lapdog of the templars and a traitor to my kind. I forgave her. What else would she think? Her lover lay dead by my hand.

"Maybe if you tried talking to us instead of attacking on sight, none of this would have happened!" Anders accused her. I allowed myself to breathe again. His anger reassured me that he had sustained no lasting harm.

"The bloodshed can end here," I said. "I am sorry that it came to this, but we don't have to go on killing each other."

"What choice do we have?" she retorted. "The templars did send you, didn't they? I'll die before I go back to the Circle. Unless..."

"I'm listening."

"There's only one templar outside," she said. "Kill him, and we all walk away free."

"More will have arrived," I said. "They were setting out from Kirkwall at sunrise, and that hour is long past."

"You can kill them, too," Grace said. "You made short work of us."

"That's right, let's kill some templars!" Fenris sneered. "That will solve all our problems."

"Maybe it won't come to that," I said, looking at Varric. "I'll convince the templars that you're dead."

"They can count, you know," Grace sneered. "They'll know how many bodies they have to recover."

"There are corpses enough to satisfy them," I said blandly, glancing at the smoking pile of bones that was once Decimus. It bore a striking resemblance to the smoking pile of bones that had once been undead.

"They'll be easier to kill than they will be to fool," she warned.

"I can be persuasive when I want to be," I bluffed, resolving to smile, nod, and let Varric do the talking.

Things went more or less according to plan. The blood magic Decimus used in the battle raised countless more corpses and skeletons for us to fight on our way out, but they went down quickly and with little ado. I had a few anxious moments when Varric introduced me to Ser Karras as "Enchanter Hawke, from Ferelden," but I had only myself to blame for that. I had forgotten to cover my staff before leaving the cavern, so I had a gleaming naked Andraste bobbing above my head while we shook hands and Varric spun his yarn. Ser Thrask looked surprised, but Ser Karras did not. Perhaps it is commonplace for Circles to send bonded enchanters to assist templars in their mage-hunts. The thought of a collared mage being forced to betray his own kind made my stomach do a slow, queasy roll. I returned my attention to Varric and Ser Karras, just in time to contribute an addled explanation of how a cavern full of mages could cease to be.

"They all turned to blood magic and killed each other," I said. They may have been the stupidest words to ever leave my lips, but Ser Karras did not seem to doubt them.

"You're welcome to go in yourself and examine the remains," Varric said loyally. "There isn't much left, though. It got messy."

"I should have known they would turn on each other," Ser Karras sneered. "Beasts will tear each other apart if they lack other prey."

I stepped on Anders's foot to silence him. The templar could say what he wanted. Truth would be proven by action, not words, and no mage ever demonstrated his restraint by blasting a templar, however tempting a target.

"Were there any survivors?" Ser Thrask asked.

"None that we saw," I began, but Varric interrupted.

"Better safe than sorry, Hawke," he said. "These caverns empty out onto a beach about two miles east of here. I'd send your men around back and head up the coast until you find the exit."

"You heard the dwarf!" Ser Kerras called to his men. "Move out!"

Ser Thrask nodded his farewell and left with Ser Karras and his templars, a shackled Alain trailing along behind them. They were barely out of sight before Grace and the others emerged.

Grace was profuse in her thanks. I accepted it, along with the staff she offered as a token of gratitude, but I had done nothing to deserve either. If there was a debt, she owed it to Varric's cleverness, not mine, but he refused to take credit for his part. I could hardly blame him. I did enjoy the feeling of knowing that I did right by Grace, but something about her made me wary, as if I should be thankful that my contact with her was at an end. I did not dwell on my ambivalence. I wanted to get back to Kirkwall... and to Stefan.

It was barely noon when we reentered the city. I was glad that it was still early because I had errands to run before I could board the ferry to the Gallows.

We went first to the Viscount's Keep. Mother and Carver were in Aveline's office. I had expected her to be allowed to at least join the cue waiting to speak to the seneschal, but she had been summarily denied. Frustrated, she used the opportunity to vent her aggravation at a listener who could not shuffle her out of the room. Based their expressions when I walked up to the captain's desk, neither was finding the experience satisfying.

Mother embraced me and kissed my cheek in an unusually demonstrative gesture of affection before laying into me about making her worry for nothing. I let her get on with it. Her scolding concealed a concern for my safety that I had almost forgotten existed. It was peppered with reprimands about placing my family and friends in danger through the careless and public use of my talents, but I could ignore that. People under stress fall back on the familiar, and her words echoed cautions both my parents had repeated since I was old enough to dress myself. I almost expected her to spit onto a rag and wipe the grime off my face... which reminded me that I needed to make myself presentable before going to see Stefan.

I intended to stop at the Hanged Man to tell Isabela that it was no longer necessary to endure the company of templars on my behalf, but she had not yet returned from the Blooming Rose. Fenris volunteered to carry the tale of our success to her there, leaving Varric, Anders and me to a leisurely lunch at the tavern. We were all filthy, so Varric ordered three tubs delivered to his suite so we could bathe while we waited for our meal.

I lay back in the water and relaxed, feeling more carefree than I have felt since arriving in Kirkwall. We had coin in our purses, no fear of capture, and leisure to enjoy the remainder of the day. Varric and Anders entertained each other with obscure and increasingly ridiculous jokes. I was safe and in good company. I was happy.

All things must end, good as well as bad. We dispersed after lunch, Varric to a meeting he would not discuss, Anders to his clinic to see if he had any patients in need of care his assistants could not provide, and me to the Gallows to catch the mid-afternoon ferry. Anders warned me that the day was growing late, and that I might regret going at a time when I might be trapped there if things went badly, but I brushed aside his concerns. Stefan respected my boundaries, I told him. I might be obliged to spend the night if our plans extended beyond the last ferry, but Stefan's couch was big enough for two, and he was hardly the sort to knife me in my sleep.

"You've changed your mind about waiting until after the expedition?" Anders asked as he walked me to the ferry.

"No, not at all, " I said. "I trust his intentions. It's his fidelity I question."

"Not everyone is worthy of that kind of trust," Anders cautioned.

"I'll be fine," I laughed. "I'll get there, watch Stefan torment Knight-Commander Meredith's aide, and talk about nothing."

"I understand wanting to torment a templar, but if you wanted to spend the evening talking about nothing, the Hanged Man is safer."

"I appreciate your concern," I said firmly, wondering how Anders could be so obtuse. He must understand that the enjoyment I derived from Stefan's company had nothing to do with conversation. I was able to stop myself from pointing this out. I do not know whether Anders believed me too innocent to know about sexual pleasure or whether he thought me too disciplined to give in to my desires, but it was not the time to enlighten him. I should have taken his warnings to heart.

I arrived at Stefan's studio just as his subject was leaving. She pushed past me at the door without even looking at me and limped off toward the templar hall. I shook my head at her apparent rudeness and went in.

The afternoon progressed as it had on our previous visit. Kisses gave way to stroking and a hasty release on my part before we settled down to resume work on Gelgenig. The shadows across the floor were lengthening. I asked him if he would not rather postpone our session until the morning, but he said that he wanted to keep painting while the light held. He said that he had set supper aside for us and promised that if I stayed, I would not be disappointed. Lounging about in the nude was having an effect on me despite his earlier ministrations, so I allowed myself to be persuaded to stay. I do not know why I thought this would not end badly.

My decision turned out to be a disaster. It began pleasantly enough. We shared a light supper, a bottle of wine (which he drank), and a few inconsequential words, and he amused me greatly with an account of his session with the Knight-Commander's aide. Stefan insisted that she pose with her foot raised as if on the neck of a demon, but he neglected to supply her with a prop, so the poor woman had to stand there for hours, straining to keep her foot steady while Stefan enjoyed her discomfort. That explained the limp I noticed upon my arrival. It should also have told me that coming here was a mistake... but it did not. After months of listening to Anders go on about the evils of the templars, I could ignore a little insensitivity toward one.

Had I been able to depart from the Gallows at the end of our meal, I would have gone home with the satisfaction of the day's events still fresh in my mind and slept the sleep of the righteous, content and unafraid. I would not be huddled at the table knocking over paint pots, trying to make sense of my life.

The trouble began immediately after dinner. The moon was not two days past full and the courtyard was flooded with soft, silver light. I wanted to walk among the pillars and see what transformation the moonlight wrought on the bronze statues that lined the square. I imagined that they would look more sad than imposing, but I never got the chance to find out. Stefan wanted to stay inside and do what we usually did when we were alone, and his melancholy when he did not get his way was unbearable. I tried to bargain with him, saying that it was still early, that we could go for a walk first and have the rest of the night left for love making, but that would not do. According to him, if I refused him, it was because I cared nothing for him. I gave in. That was my second mistake.

The last time he and I lay together, he thrilled me in ways I had not thought possible. What he did first surpassed even that experience. I flinched at the touch of his oil-slick finger, and his next actions made me gasp in alarm and cringe at the fleeting discomfort, but my protests subsided as he awakened me to sensations more intense than I could have imagined.

When it was my turn to reciprocate, I hesitated. I am shorter than Stefan, but my hands are large, and I feared that my inexperience might hurt him. He laughed at my concerns. He was used to that and more, he said, and bid me carry on. What happened next was enlightening. I did not expect to be able to feel his muscles contract at the climactic moment, although perhaps I should have, considering how aware I had been of his finger inside me moments before. It made me wonder how it would feel to take the next step, but I was nowhere near ready for that. My body had responded to his touch with pleasure, but his finger was not his largest appendage. More importantly, my imagination was working. I anticipated the emotional impact of being joined in that way, and as much as I enjoyed the superficial touches we shared, I was simply not prepared for that much intimacy.

After washing, I wanted to dress and go out. Most of the merchants in the courtyard slept in their stalls, and they gathered at a makeshift tavern trading tales and playing cards. I could see the muted firelight and hear their laughter. It reminded me of the market in Lothering during the annual harvest fair, and I was feeling homesick. I longed to join them and take part in their quiet revelry. Stefan insisted that we return to bed. Once again, I gave in. I knew that we would not sleep, but I was not tired. Despite the force of my climax and the odd twinges of its aftermath, I was not completely sated, nor was he. I was too sensitive to enjoy any more of the exploration we indulged in earlier, but his erotic repertoire was limitless. The third time finished me, and I fell asleep with him softening between my legs, too spent to even clean off the oil.

Our carnal excesses invaded my dreams, and I woke to find myself almost painfully aroused. I was wedged against the wall as I had been when sleep claimed me, and Stefan still lay behind me with his hand encircling me, stroking gently, but something was very, very wrong. He was no longer nestled between the meat of my thighs. Something warm, firm, and slippery was lodged in an intensely personal, intensely vulnerable place, exerting pressure against an orifice not made to exclude it. I tensed, but there was no way to prevent the intrusion... or the searing pain that accompanied the thrust. He felt like a great, flaming log. He gripped me with all of his might, but I flung him off. I scrambled out of bed and hurled myself onto the floor in my haste to escape.

"Iain, no!" he screamed, shielding his face with raised arms.

My own hands crackled with the fire I was about to unleash. I unclenched my will and the flames died, plunging us into a darkness broken only by moonlight through the windows.

"What have you done?" I demanded.

"Nothing!" he squealed. "I have done nothing!"

"You tried to rape me! You... did." I collapsed, drawing my knees up to my chest and wincing at the lingering burn. My guts churned at the invasion, spasming to expel something that was no longer there. I paused to draw breath and cast a quick healing spell. Angry as I was, I had no desire to humiliate myself further. "Why?"

"I didn't!" he protested. "I was sleeping! I didn't know what I was doing!"

"You're lying," I said, anger rising again. "You know exactly what you were doing. You were going to take me while I slept."

"It's the kindest way," he said. His voice was still shrill with panic. "You were relaxed. You would have yielded and there would have been no pain."

"It felt like you shoved a red-hot poker up my ass, but that isn't the point. I wasn't ready. I wanted to wait." I found my pants in the dark and pulled them on. I could not find my small clothes, but my haste to cover my nakedness was too great to allow me to look for them.

"You were ready. You liked being touched inside, yes? You wanted more, but you were afraid. In sleep, there is no fear."

"It wanted it to be my choice. You took that away from me."

"What in life is our choice, my love?"

"Don't you dare call me that! There was no love in what you just did."

"There was! I wanted only to spare you the first sting. Please, I beg you, I thought of nothing but your pleasure."

He had risen and was crawling toward me, entreating me with outstretched hands to embrace him.

"Please," he said, "it was a mistake. Do not leave me!"

"Leave you! You're lucky I don't kill you! Stefan, do you have any idea what you just did?"

"I tried to make love to you as one man who loves another."

"You tried to take me by force."

"I could never do such a thing!" he pleaded. "It is impossible. You are stronger than me, faster. You would kill me with magic if I tried."

"I almost did kill you with magic! Do you have any idea how close you just came to being a cinder?"

"You would not hurt me," he said, though he looked far from certain. "You love me, just as I love you."

"I don't love you," I said coldly. "I don't even know you. And if you think what you just did is a sign of affection, I don't want to know you, either."

"Please, don't leave me! I can explain!"

"How?"

"I was not thinking," he said. "I forget that your ways are not always the same as mine. A slave's body is never his own, so he values it only for the pleasure it can give him."

His crawl had brought him within arm's reach. He knelt weeping in front of me, his arms extended as if to embrace me.

My anger faded, even if my hurt and confusion did not. His contrition seemed genuine. He really did not understand why I was upset. I sighed and allowed him to approach. He collapsed against me, embracing me and sobbing in relief. I pushed him away, but I did not retreat further. I let him weep and tried to understand.

"Where else can I go?" I asked myself.

"This is true," he said, seizing the opportunity to force me to stay. "The merchants have gone to their beds. Only the templars are wakeful, and they would question you. Stay with me, my love, and let me try to make things right."

"You can't," I said. "You can't just take back what you did and expect me to pretend nothing happened."

"No, I know you will not forget. I hope you may yet forgive. It was the kindest way."

"Raping me in my sleep was kinder than what, exactly?"

"The first time is always the worst," he said. "You are tense, wary. My master gave me a draught that erased my fears and blunted the pain. I would have done the same with you, but I know how rarely you take wine. I will ask your potion-making friend. Perhaps there is some other liquid he can use to extract the herbs, and the next time will be better for both of us."

"There isn't going to be a next time," I said.

"Never?" Stefan pulled away from me and stared at me, shock and pain in his eyes.

"Not for a long time, if ever. I trusted you, Stefan. You said that you would not pressure me to go further than I wanted, and look where we are."

"We don't always know what we want. Sometimes, we need another to open our eyes."

"My eyes are open, believe me. I'll never shut them again in your presence. And how dare you presume that I don't know what I want? I may be inexperienced at some things, but I'm not an idiot."

He dissolved into weeping again. I wanted to leave, but I was trapped where I was, just as Anders had warned. Eventually, I relented.

"I know that you don't understand why what you did was wrong," I said, "but it was. I will try to forgive you, but it's going to take time."

"You will leave me!" He began to cry again.

"Yes," I said, donning my shirt. My tunic was missing, too, but I did not care to look for it. "I need to think."

"Not forever, then?" he asked hopefully.

"I don't know," I said. "I have a lot to think about. Like how I can be friends with a man who doesn't respect another's right to do what he wants with his own body."

"You have to understand! I knew nothing of these freedoms you speak of."

"I know," I said. "I knew that you did not see things the same way I do. I thought we could overcome our differences, but this..."

"It was a mistake! A misunderstanding! It will never happen again."

"No, it won't. I need to be alone, Stefan. I can't be with you right now."

"You will come back, yes? In a week, this will all be forgotten."

"I doubt it, but it makes little difference. I am going on a journey. I will be gone for a month or more. I will not even be able to write to you."

"But you would write to me if you could?"

"I don't know," I repeated, but my resolution began to waver. The desperation in his voice provoked pity even as it annoyed me.

"I will wait for you," he said firmly. "I will write to you of my love for you every day, and when you return, you will read what I have written and know how I cherish you."

"I cannot tell you what to do. If I could, I would tell you not to wait, and certainly not to write."

"You will change your mind. I will wait. I will wait, and I will write. And will you visit me again before you go?"

"Not here," I said. "I will send you a message and tell you where to meet me... or if I do visit here, I will bring a friend. Is there anywhere else in the Gallows I can sleep tonight?"

"If you go to Templar Hall, they will let you sleep with the mages," Stefan said. There was a sly edge to his voice. "They will gladly let you in... although they may not let you out."

My blood ran cold. Once more, I was reminded that I could not trust Stefan the way I could trust Anders or Aveline... or any of my friends. He did not say that he would turn me in if I left him. He did not have to.

"Then I will stay awake," I said, wondering how soon dawn would arrive.

"Please, there is no need," he said. "I will not touch you again unless you ask me to."

"I've heard that before," I said. "Sleep well, Stefan. I will wake you before I leave."

It took some persuasion to get him to lie down and leave me alone, but eventually, he did. I did not want to kiss him goodnight, but it was the only way to get him to go to bed.

Gradually, his sniffling subsided and his breathing assumed the slow, even cadence of sleep. My own emotions have quieted, as well. It is not acceptance. I am still in shock. The physical insult was a small thing. It was an invasion and I wish it had not happened, but I have had my arm broken in the jaws of a dragon. The pinch Stefan gave me was nothing compared to that. It will be days before I know what the long-term consequences will be, and much of that depends on him. I hate the fact that I have given him so much power over me, but it is too late to fix the henhouse door after the foxes have eaten all the chickens. I want to leave him. I want to walk away and never look back... but I cannot. He knows enough to damn me and my family. I am trapped. For now.

Trust is an odd thing. It is precious, but it cannot be paid for with coin. Since daybreak, I have trusted Ser Thrask with my secrets, I have trusted Fenris with my life, I have trusted Anders with my hopes and fears, and I have trusted Varric with my future. Not one of them has betrayed me. I trusted Stefan to respect me, and he did not. Yesterday, I told Anders that love is the driving force that governs our behavior, but the one person who has disappointed me is the only one who claims to love me. Irony is not always humorous.


	35. Chapter 35: Growing Up

9:30 Dragon, 6 Cloudreach: Anders's Clinic, Darktown

Despite every effort to stay awake, I fell asleep at Stefan's work table, my head on my forearms and my elbow in a dish of linseed oil. When I woke, pale daylight filtered through the window panes. The sun was up, but it was not yet high over the horizon. Miraculously, Stefan slept on, a peaceful smile on his lips. I wanted to strike him for the audacity of having pleasant dreams while I was so conflicted. Still, it was morning, and the ferry would be running. I crossed to the door.

"I'm leaving!" I called across the room, unwilling to get within arm's reach of him. The door was locked. I yanked on the handle anyway.

Stefan rolled up on one elbow.

"You will eat something before you go, yes?" he asked as if nothing had happened.

"After the talk we had last night, I'd starve before I ate or drank anything you touched."

"You worry too much."

"Stefan, let me go," I said in the most rational voice I could muster. "You can't keep me here against my will."

"No, I cannot," he agreed. "You would blast the lock, no? What are wood and iron compared to the powers you command?"

"I can't do that here, Stefan, but that isn't what I meant. I can't stay here indefinitely."

"Can you not? The knight-commander will come for her sitting in person today. I will tell her that I require more food and drink. You may remain here quite comfortably."

"I can't live like that, and neither can you."

"If you leave," he said, "I will become distraught. I will go to the templars' chapel to calm my nerves, and confess how completely you have _ensorcelled_ me."

"Stefan, don't," I said firmly. "You aren't going to turn me in over this. If you did, I'd be trapped in the Gallows forever, and your tenure here ends very soon."

"I don't want you to leave me."

"I didn't want what happened last night, but that made no difference to you. I gave you my word that I would see you again before I leave Kirkwall. Isn't that enough?"

"And again when you return?"

"We'll see. Unlock the door, Stefan. We have said all there is to say."

"And if I go to the templars?"

"There's nothing I can do to stop you," I said. "But you won't."

Brave words, I uttered, but sweat ran cold down the back of my neck. We stared at each other for a few heartbeats, each of us taking the other's measure. At last, Stefan rose, extracted a key from drawer, and turned it in the lock.

The door was barely open before I bolted... straight into the arms of Alain.

"Enchanter Hawke!" he exclaimed. "I did not expect to see you here! Although maybe I should have. These are the guest quarters. I wouldn't think they'd lock you up as if you were an inmate."

The bitterness of his words snapped me out of my obsession with my own problems. He sounded utterly wretched, and his eyes were rimmed with red, I noticed.

"Are you settling in alright?" I asked carefully.

"I never thought..." he began. "The Starkhaven Circle was nothing like this."

"Oh?"

"They lock you in your room at sundown. As soon as the portcullis closes, they do a head count and lock everybody in their cells. One of the formari was late and got flogged. We had to watch."

"They let you out in the morning, though," I said. "You don't have to stay locked in your room all day."

"Some people do. They let me out because I have to see the herbalist."

"Solitvus? You aren't sick, are you?"

"Er... no," he said, looking quickly away.

"Alain, what's wrong?" I asked.

"I... I can't say. Ser Karras said that he'll make me Tranquil if I tell..."

"And he was the one who locked you in your room last night, wasn't he?" A sick feeling washed over me.

"Yes."

In my mind, I saw it: Alain backing into his room, his hands raised in a futile gesture of warding as Ser Karras locked the door behind them. The fear of watching the templar approach and knowing what was going to happen... if Alain had known. The pain of being taken by force by a man feared by his own colleagues because of his brutality. The knowledge that he was truly at the templar's mercy and that nothing he said or did would allow him to escape defilement. I do not know which would have been the hardest to bear. Alain is little more than a boy. He should have been ogling the cute apprentices, not forced to submit to the lust of his jailer.

I thought of my own confused feelings toward Stefan moments before. How much worse must it be for Alain? I had the comfort of knowing that I probably would have voluntarily lain with Stefan at some point after the expedition. I had liked him... before he showed me how untrustworthy he was. Alain had no affection to blunt his terror.

"Alain, I am so sorry I brought this upon you. I should have-"

"You didn't know," he said quickly, glancing over my shoulder. I turned to face Ser Karras himself.

"You have an errand, boy," the templar said coldly. "I expect you to get to it."

"At once, Ser!" Alain squeaked, then fled.

Ser Karras's gaze was ice, but he said nothing. Following Alain's example of avoidance, I made haste to the quay.

The wait for the ferry seemed interminable. At first, I was too shaken by my encounter with Alain to think about my own troubles. As the moments passed and no ferry came, I began to worry that Stefan might make good on his threat to go to the templars. But as moments lengthened and became an hour, apprehension gave way to impatience, and then to irritation.

Eventually, irritation gave way to physical discomfort. A gentle, steady rain was falling, and I had forgotten to look for my tunic. I wrote off the clothing as a loss. Going back to the studio would expose me to more of Stefan's possessiveness, and I have had enough of that. I regretted the decision even more on the ferry ride itself. The air was still, but I was soaked before I got on the boat, and the mist rising off the harbor chilled me to the bone. It was the first time since we arrived in Kirkwall that I have ever been cold. I wonder if fatigue or my emotional state contributed to my misery of if I am finally growing accustomed to the weather this far north. I hope not. I hate Kirkwall.

I felt filthy. I was filthy, of course, with oil growing tacky on my skin and on my clothes, but more than that, I felt dirty as a person, soiled. I thought about the euphoria I felt after my first meeting with Stefan, and the sense of pollution became almost overwhelming. I wanted to blame him for taking advantage of my inexperience, but I could not. No one had coerced me to lie naked beside him. I had never given him explicit permission to use me as he would, but what else would he think? And really, what had I lost? My pride? No one knew but Stefan. Apart from the grime that covered my body, I did not feel changed. I cannot help thinking that I am missing something or broken somehow. Perhaps I should die of shame when presented with proof of my lack of manly dignity. And I look at the contradictions in the paragraph I have just written and realize that I do not know what to think. The existential uncertainty is maddening. I wish somebody would tell me what I am supposed to be feeling so I can get on with it.

What of Alain? If I feel confused and ill-used, what must he be suffering? Or perhaps he is not torn by doubt the way I am. Ser Karras raped him because Ser Karras is a monster. Alain himself is blameless. Despite his lapse of judgment, I have trouble casting earnest, affectionate Stefan as a villain, so if there must be a monster, that leaves only me. It was not a helpful thought to be entertaining on the queasy seas of the harbor.

The ferry docked at the wharf behind the Hanged Man and I crept up the stairs toward the Old City, praying that I would encounter no one I recognized. I knew that I looked haggard and disheveled, half dressed in stained and stinking garments. Stefan had used linseed oil as a lubricant, a commodity always present in a painter's studio, and everything I wore was permeated with its fishy reek.

My luck held... unfortunately, considering the nature of my luck. I intended to go home and scrub myself until my skin peeled, but Merrill was visiting Mother this morning. I greeted them with as few words as courtesy permitted, grabbed clean, still-damp clothing from the line, and made for Anders's clinic.

Thankfully, Anders was busy when I arrived. Still shivering from the cold, wet ferry ride, the Darktown chill, and my persistent nausea, I looked forward to a scalding hot bath. Once again, my plans were thwarted. My control seemed shakier than usual this morning, so, after accidentally igniting a bushel of redblossom and setting off a fireball big enough to brighten the entire clinic, I settled for a lukewarm bath and a lot of soap.

"So, how did it go?" Anders asked brightly, washing his hands in a basin.

"I ran into Alain in the Gallows," I said, hoping that Anders would look no further for explanation of my mood. "He was raped by a templar his very first night."

"Oh, no," Anders sighed, pulling a crate beside the tub and sitting upon it. "I was afraid that would happen."

"He was very kind about it. Not one word of reproach, but I still feel responsible. I wish he had blamed me."

"He had no reason to, nor do you. The templars take what they want, and no one dares stand up to them for fear of getting the brand."

"He said that Ser Karras would make him Tranquil if he told anyone," I said.

"Typical templar tactic," Anders said, scowling. "I curse the day they started using Tranquility as a punishment instead of a prophylactic."

"What?"

"Tranquility was originally intended to protect others from dangerous mages," he explained. "Sometimes, senior enchanters would decide that an apprentice lacked the control necessary to undergo the Harrowing. The Circle conducted the Rite to prevent them from turning to blood magic or becoming abominations."

"What kind of control are you talking about?" I asked, eyeing the singed basket of herbs.

"Not all mages possess the same talents. You know that. Your spells are more powerful than mine, but you tire more easily than I do. Somebody else may lack both strength and stamina, and that person might resort to blood magic to bolster their abilities."

"So, the senior enchanters decide 'This mage doesn't have the firepower to light a candle. Let's make them Tranquil so they don't call down demons'?"

"Pretty much," he said. "Other times, apprentices have perfectly acceptable competence and ability, but enough ambition to make their mentors nervous. These are made Tranquil to prevent them from turning into monsters out of greed. And some apprentices fear the Harrowing so much that they request the Rite themselves."

"Is it that bad?" I asked. "I can't imagine anything more terrifying than losing your mind."

"I don't know. Everybody reacts to the Harrowing differently. I didn't find it to be too challenging, but I've known mages who'd break down at even the memory of it. I guess it depends on how comfortable you are with the unknown."

"That sounds like my life. What's involved in the Harrowing, anyway?"

"Technically, I'm not supposed to tell you," Anders said. "But technically, neither of us is supposed to exist outside the Circle, so I might as well. They send you into the Fade to confront a demon."

"That's it? We confront demons all the time."

"Your education was better than most apprentices'. You were taught to use your talents responsibly, but you were never told that they were evil. Nobody ever said that you were cursed by the Maker and a living symbol of humanity's fall from grace. You never tried to deny what you are or flinched at the thought of using your abilities to protect yourself or others. A fearful apprentice steeped in the belief of his own worthlessness might be too afraid to fight the demon. Or he might feel that he has nothing left to lose and accept the offer willingly. And some are probably overwhelmed."

"That must make for an anxious apprenticeship, knowing that if you aren't tough enough to face down a demon, you'll have your personality stripped from you."

"Apprentices don't know," he said. "You know that you'll have to undergo a 'Harrowing' at some point, but they don't tell you when it will be or what you'll have to face. All you know is that one day, they'll wake you up in the middle of the night, drag you off, and that if you return, you'll get a nicer room and ugly robes in a different color."

"_If_ you return?"

"I'm not sure if returning as a Tranquil counts. And not all mages survive the Harrowing. I always knew that some mages simply disappeared without a word, but I was unable to find out what happened to them on my own. Your cousin told me that the reason they vanish is that the templars kill their mortal bodies if they show signs of becoming an abomination."

"So, the apprentices know that they will eventually be tested, but they don't know when or how? And because they don't know what's involved, they have no way to prepare themselves?"

"That about covers it," Anders harrumphed.

"Maker, it's a wonder they don't all go insane."

Talking to Anders was good for me. We usually talked about the same thing, the "mage plight," as Carver would say (accompanied by an epic eye roll), but it distracted me from more painful concerns. The distraction did not last. Anders had noticed that the clean clothes I brought were still wet, so he built up the fire and hung them nearby to dry. Once he was done with that, he reached for my dirty things and froze. The abruptness of his movement drew my attention. He was staring at my cast off trousers. The oil stains were obvious.

"I see you changed your mind after all," he said in an artificially light voice.

I got out of the tub, scooped up the soiled shirt and pants, and dumped them on the fire. Gouts of flame shot upward and waves of greasy smoke rolled out of the fireplace.

"Linseed oil accident," I said evasively, jerking my arms back to avoid being burned by the flare-up. "It would never have washed out."

Anders stood with his face turned politely away, his expression surprised.

"What?" I asked irritably, ducking behind a stack of crates until I decided whether or not to return to the now-cold bath. "It's freezing in here. Doesn't Lirene give you firewood?"

"As much as she can spare. Iain, what's wrong? You aren't usually so jumpy."

"We've had a trying few days. And what happened to Alain didn't help."

"Nor did what happened to you. You overestimated Stefan's self-control, didn't you?"

"Haven't you got patients to see?" I asked. "The clinic is still open, isn't it?"

"We're at a lull. Mateo will call if we get anything he can't handle. That's it, isn't it?"

"No," I lied. "We're just taking a break from each other. He has paintings to finish and I need to get ready for the expedition. Would you mind heating the bathwater for me? With the luck I'm having, I'll burn the place down before I get the temperature right."

Anders was not fooled. I am certain of that. But he did heat my bath, and he stopped asking questions, which was the important part. I hated lying to Anders, but some things should remain private. I do not know why I felt such a need to conceal what happened from Anders, but I did. I wonder whether I was afraid he would think ill of Stefan or of me for being so stupid.

"So, this linseed oil accident involved you rolling in the stuff?" he asked. I got back into the tub.

"It's good for the skin," I said. "Is this the strongest soap you've got?"

"Unless you want to roll in lye. I don't recommend it. Did you see Solitivus in the Gallows?"

"No, but I wasn't looking for him. Did you need something?"

"I had a question about a translation. He's Tevinter, you know."

"I didn't know that," I said. "But now that you mention it, his name is a give-away. Odd that he'd take to life in the Circle so painlessly. To hear Fenris talk, Tevinter-born mages consider anything less than dominance over all lesser beings the gravest of insults."

"And Fenris is an unbiased authority on the subject?" Anders snorted. "Anyway, I sent him a letter last week, but he may not have received it. Or it's possible that he doesn't know. Kirkwall is full of people with Tevinter names who were born here. It isn't urgent."

"You could ask Fenris," I suggested mildly. "He definitely knows the language."

"_That_ would be helpful. I can only imagine what he'd say."

"I was planning on going there later. He's been asking me to spar with him, and I could stand a distraction from..."

"From what you aren't talking about," he finished for me. "I don't think that's what you need right now."

"What I need right now is sleep," I said decisively. "Somewhere safe... where I don't have to worry about rats in my blankets, I mean. Wallace isn't much of a mouser."

"He isn't even four months old," Anders said. "Kittens are more interested in playing than in hunting at that age."

"Would you let me sleep here for a few hours? I wouldn't ask, but Merrill was visiting Mother when I stopped at the house for my clothes."

"You don't have to ask. You're always welcome."

I barely had time to thank him before he was called away to tend a patient beyond Mateo's skill. I felt an odd pang at the thought that Anders had found a healer to assist him in ways my magic could not, but I know my jealousy is misplaced. Even if Mateo replaced me as the object of Anders's affection as well as his helper, I have forfeited any claim I might have had to it. I was the one who built the wall between us. I have no right to complain if Anders found another more sympathetic to his cause. Not a Fereldan, by the name, nor even a Free Marcher. Rivaini, perhaps? Isabela tells me that in Rivain, they have a more casual attitude toward magic than elsewhere. The legacy of a culture known for its seers and sooth-sayers. I wrack my brain trying to recall the faces of the various assistants I have seen here, trying to remember if any seemed darker or more comely than the rest, but I cannot. I never really looked.

At least I have one comfort as I sit straining to hear the hushed dialogues of the clinic. Were I truly deranged by my misadventures with Stefan, I would care nothing for Anders's romantic entanglements. I do not know if my jealousy is a blessing or a curse, but at least I now know that I am not too damaged to be moved by natural human emotions. I just wish that I did not have to feel all of them at once.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Apologies for the serious bent of this chapter and "Trust". It seemed necessary for a number of reasons. The chapters were no easier to write than they were to read. Thedas is a living world, populated by people with familiar motivations, both for good and ill. We're moving back toward the regularly scheduled game quests now that the aftermath of Act of Mercy is out of the way, with Shepherding Wolves on deck and the expedition not far behind. Thanks for reading!<em>


	36. Chapter 36: Saarabas

9:30 Dragon, 8 Cloudreach: Gamlen's hovel, Lowtown

When I lay down in Anders's clinic, I intended to sleep for a few hours and then head up to Hightown to spar with Fenris. It never happened.

Despite the safety and familiarity of my surroundings, I could not fall asleep. I could lie down, but a few moments later, I would be up and pacing again, or poking through boxes with no care for Anders's privacy. I tried sitting down and working on the translations, but I inevitably wound up pacing again. After an hour or so of this, a slight, elderly man with a face like a shelled walnut placed a steaming cup in my hands and pantomimed knocking it back in one gulp and resting his cheek on folded hands. I sniffed the vile-smelling contents, but he shook his head, held his nose, and repeated the gesture with an added smile and nod.

"Does Anders want me to drink this?" I asked him. "Is it a sleeping potion?"

He answered with more smiles and nods.

I obeyed. It was without a doubt the foulest thing I have ever deliberately put in my mouth, but I got it down. The man took my elbow and steered me toward Anders's cot, but I needed no encouragement. My shoulders had already unknotted, and my knees seemed ready to follow. I remember him covering me with a blanket and patting my arm as if I were a child, but nothing else.

I awoke in the dark, but a soft orange light showed around the edges of the screens Anders used to separate his living area from the rest of the clinic. Quiet voices conversed nearby. One of them was unmistakably my brother's.

Anders, Carver, and Isabela were seated around the worktable. Its usual burden of herbs and distillation equipment had been shifted to make room for an impromptu card game. As usual, Isabela had the largest pile of coins.

"There you are!" Isabela called to me. "Aren't you just the cutest little sleepy-head!"

I rubbed my eyes and sat down beside her.

"I was starting to wonder if you'd wake up at all before morning," Anders said. "Do you feel better?"

I found that I did. I did not feel anything, in fact, which was a vast improvement.

"Must be nice, having everybody carry you around on three pillows," Carver snorted.

"I'll let you know if it ever happens," I said. "What time is it?"

"About two hours past sundown," Anders said. "You needed the sleep."

"What are you two doing here?" I asked of Carver and Isabela.

"Remember that elven girl you rescued from that lunatic on the Wounded Coast?" Carver replied.

I shuddered at the memory. It was not long after Macha and I had our falling out. I was a terrible diarist during that time, so I probably failed to record it. A magister had hired us to retrieve a fugitive from some ruins outside town. He had dispatched private guards for the task, but they were afraid to enter the vermin-infested tunnels. Carver, Isabela, Aveline, and I had no trouble with the creatures we found, but it was still upsetting. The runaway turned out to be the magistrate's son, and he was being held for kidnapping and murdering elven children. We encountered his latest victim on the way in, a terrified child. She pleaded with me to spare him when I found him and I promised to try. I approached this Kelder with her pleas ringing in my ears... and the knowledge of what he had done to her churning in my gut. He admitted his crimes himself. He claimed that demons were responsible for his depravity, an obvious lie. He was a monster. I went into the cave with the intention of surrendering him to justice, but I consigned him to mercy instead. I took no pleasure in ending his life, but it had to be done. Even Aveline agreed that we had no choice.

"Her father Elren found out where we live," Carver went on. "He sent you a sovereign."

"That was nice of him," I said. "And unexpected. Did he say how his daughter is?"

"He said that she's still coming to terms with what happened."

"That's probably the best anyone can hope for," I sighed.

"I'm still glad you slit his throat," Isabela said with a scowl. "The bastard

deserved it."

"So, you came all the way here to give me a sovereign?"

"Mother said you looked rough when she saw you this morning," Carver said. "I came to shut her up."

"And I came because I was bored," Isabela added cheerfully.

"I was going to go spar with Fenris today," I said, "but it's probably a little late for that."

"So let's go there and play cards instead," Isabela suggested. "No offense, Anders, but this place is depressing."

"At least it's clean," he said defensively.

We left Darktown together. Anders told me more about Mateo while we walked. I had already met him, as it turned out. He was the one who brought me the sleeping draught. He was no mage, Anders said, but a talented herbalist from Rivain. He was also a mystic and possibly mad, but who of my acquaintance was not? According to him, a vision had come to him in a dream and told him to leave his village and come to Kirkwall. As he has been mute since birth, I have no idea how he managed to convey all this to Anders. Perhaps he can write. In hindsight, I feel absolutely ridiculous about my recent jealousy. My guilty conscience is dragging everyone down to my level.

Despite the proximity of Anders's clinic to the stairs that would take us directly to Hightown, we decided to take the Lowtown lift and pass through Quarry Yard on the way to the causeway so I could check in with Mother. We never made it that far.

We were climbing the stairs between the lift and the Foundry District when we overheard a Chantry sister soliciting the aid of a thuggish, red-haired man.

We watched the proceedings for a few moments, trading a few comments about the stupidity of bringing large sums of coin into Lowtown after dark, but I opted to intervene before the sister was slaughtered. I might have scoffed at her foolishness for Isabela's benefit, but it was not six months since my misadventure in Hightown. She could not have known how I found myself naked and dying in an alcove, but I did not want the same fate to befall the priest. In the end, it turned out that we were the ones being set up, but I am getting ahead of myself.

I tried not to use magic during the fight - the sister was still there, even if she was cowering under the foundry stairs - but my increasing reliance on it has taken its toll on my staff skills despite Fenris's flattery. In the end, I settled for using relatively unobtrusive spells: Stonefist and anything else that did not make a flash or a boom. Fortunately, the group of thieves was small.

The priest emerged from her shelter almost before the last thug crumpled to the ground. After a few cursory words of thanks, she astonished me by offering us what she had offered the ruffians.

"You're too free with your trust, Sister," I said. "It almost got you killed just now."

"The risk was necessary to find the kind of person I need," she said, unfazed. "I need someone capable, but honorable. Someone unafraid to defend a stranger, perhaps."

My common sense informed me in its most resigned tones that the entire incident had been a setup. My common sense has low expectations.

"I have a ward who needs safe passage from the city," she went on. "You have both the skill and integrity for the task. Meet me in Quarry Yard, in a house across from the alley to the alienage."

"You don't even know me," I protested.

"You need coin, do you not?" she countered, then called out, "Ser Varnell!"

The honorific registered at the same time as Carver hissed, "Just what we need! A Blighted templar!"

I somehow avoided over-reacting to my brother's warning, even though I still had my staff in my hand. Mages are not the only people in Thedas to find large sticks convenient, I reminded myself, and if I intended to deal with templars on a daily basis, I was going to have to learn not to bolt at the sound of the word. Nor did excessive caution seem necessary. The templar, Ser Varnell, the priest called him, did not seem bright enough to tell right from left, let alone mage from warrior. It is dangerous to put faith in first impressions, but I found it impossible to imagine a keen mind lurking behind those dull, lifeless eyes.

The priest repeated her instructions for us to meet her at the safehouse and departed.

"Anyone up for some easy money?" I asked.

"Why not?" said Isabela. "I've probably won all your coin already anyway."

We all groaned in agreement and made our way to Quarry Yard. I stopped at Gamlen's to reassure Mother and invented an excuse about drunken debauchery keeping me out all night. She was hardly placated by that explanation, especially after meeting Isabela, but it was better than telling her the truth. Not much better, as it exposed me to a lot of uncomfortable questions from Isabela and Carver once we had regained the privacy of the street, but evasion led them to the conclusion that I was being discreet about my conquests, not Stefan's. The less I told them, the more impressive they believed them to be. By the time we reached the safe house across the yard, Carver was convinced that I was sleeping with Madame Lusine, proprietor of the Blooming Rose, while Isabela insisted that I had made Seneschal Bran my love slave. Anders declined to speculate.

I was right about the limits of the templar's wit. Less than two hours had passed since we parted company in the Foundry District, but he had no recollection of his mistress's invitation to meet her. I reminded him that I was expected, his mistress confirmed it, and we were shown into a room occupied by the most terrifying creature I have ever seen.

He was unmistakably Qunari, but he looked like none I had seen. He was bound with chains and the small part of his face visible above his heavy iron collar was covered with a brazen mask. His horns had been cut off, but the mutilation only made him appear more threatening.

"I call him Ketojan," the priest said, "a bridge between worlds."

I stared.

"He is the victim of brutality among his own kind," she went on. "Would even a templar bind a mage like this?"

My mouth fell open. Fenris had told me that he defeated a Tal-Vashoth mage in the caverns under the Wounded Coast, but I had not seen the body for myself. The Qunari before me made me wish I had made the effort. His lips were sewn shut. Do they hate mages that much? Of course they do. People fear what they do not understand. I should not expect greater wisdom among the Qunari than I find among my own people.

I asked the priest questions - Sister Petrice, she called herself - but I only half-listened to the replies. I paid more attention to her tone. She danced around direct answers, offering responses intended to discourage more questions rather than to address the issues raised. I wondered why she would help a mage at all. Her sister clerics do little enough to help those under templar supervision. I could not imagine why she would want him led from the city when every other known mage in Kirkwall was locked in the Gallows. I wondered where he would go. It has been hard enough for me to live free as a mage, and I do not have half a rain barrel chained to my shoulders. She evaded everything.

In the end, I consented to the task. Hopeless or not, he deserved a chance at freedom. Isabela seemed disappointed that I intended to get the Qunari out under cover of darkness instead of doing it after a card game at Fenris's, but she brightened up when we encountered Varric in Quarry Yard and he offered to take her place. She waved farewell quite jauntily, and promised to regale Fenris with tales of my exploits. I fear she may have kept her word.

Varric was not happy to be trapped in a tunnel with an inarticulate Qunari. None of us were, least of all the thugs we encountered along the way. Why they imagined that three humans, a dwarf, and a walking mountain would be easy prey, I cannot say, but they will have ample time to reflect on their error in the afterlife. After that, we encountered no further difficulty until we were outside Kirkwall.

If any of us thought our troubles would end once we were outside the templars' reach, they were in for a disappointment. We emerged halfway down the Wounded Coast amid a forest of Qunari spears. On the bright side, few kinds of foliage are as effective at clearing a troubled mind.

The leader of the group addressed me in broken common speech. I did not understand most of what he said, but the message was clear: "You are in possession of my property."

It took me a few moments to realize that he was referring to Ketojan, but by that time, the Qunari lieutenant was already talking about a dead karataam, whatever that is, and a trail that ended with us.

I tried to explain that if they were following a trail and we approached them in the opposite direction, we could not have left it, but he was unmoved. He wanted Ketojan - or Saarebas, as the Qunari called him - back, and the rest did not seem to matter.

The Qunari lieutenant, Arvaraad, was hostile and rude, but talking to him clarified much about their culture… which seemed to be as hostile and rude as he was, at least where magic was concerned. Qunari mages are considered non-persons, it seems, dangerous things to be kept contained at all times. Arvaraad condemned the Chantry for failing to comprehend the danger mages pose, claiming that we draw power from chaos and are nothing but the pawns of demons. I found this difficult to accept. In the end, he offered us a choice. We could surrender Ketojan or they would fight us.

They were not easy to defeat. I took a spear through my shoulder and Carver took an arrow in the cheek, but we survived.

Once Anders patched us up, we were able to return our attention to Ketojan. He had been paralyzed with some kind of control rod, but it was undamaged in the fight, and I was able to figure out how to turn it off easily enough. As soon as he was able to move again, he rose and walked to the water's edge.

We stood together for several moments, looking out over the reefs and the wreckage. I was about to ask him what he intended to do with his freedom when he spoke.

"I am unbound," he said slowly, as if discovering speech for the first time. "It feels… wrong. But you deserve honor. You are basvaraad, one worthy of following."

He paused, and I stared. I did not know what to say.

"Your intentions deserve honor," he said at last, "even if they are wrong."

He gathered himself to his full height, nearly double my own, and wrapped his arms about himself.

"I know the will of my people," he said. "I must return… to the Qun."

He opened his arms and flames leapt from his fingertips, surrounding his form.

"Wait!" I cried. "After all this - everything we have done - you want to die?"

"I want to live by the Qun." The fire flickered and went out, but he did not lower his arms.

"And you don't think that would be easier if you were alive?"

"No."

"Arvaraad is gone," I said. "You do not have to fear him now."

"He is dead," Ketojan said calmly, "but that does not make him wrong. He spoke the Qun."

Anders muttered, fuming, to one side, but I paid him no heed. I knew why he was ranting, as I felt the same way myself. Taking one's own life is a sin in the eyes of the Maker. Every Andrastian knows that. But Ketojan… Saarabas… was no Andrastian.

Understanding filled me like lead. I would never be able to accept his beliefs. I could not ask him to submit to mine.

"You are free," I said. "What you do with your freedom is up to you."

"We are more alike than you know," he said. "Your role would change little if you embraced the Qun."

I wanted to protest, to tell him that my role would change greatly if my mouth were sewn shut, but I held my peace. If he could say that, knowing what I am, my comment would mean nothing.

He reached inside his barrel-like collar. For a moment, I thought that he was going to remove it and approach death as a free being, but instead, he lifted a fine golden chain over his head.

"Keep this secret thing," he said, handing me the amulet. "Remember this day."

I watched him burn. The wind changed, wafting the smell and the ash over me, but I did not walk away. He deserved a witness to his sacrifice. I will always believe that it is harder to live for your beliefs than it is to die for them, but perhaps Saarabas did both.

We returned to Kirkwall long after the sun had set. Anders was half dead on his legs, and Varric was little better. Carver was the least weary among us, but he is more accustomed to lack of sleep than the rest of us.

"See you in the morning?" I enquired as we passed the Hanged Man.

"Uh-uh," Varric contradicted. "We get paid and then we go to bed."

As it happened, his warning was especially timely. Sister Petrice and Ser Varnell were packing as we arrived, shoving the hovel's sparse furnishings into crates and loading them onto a wagon in the yard.

"Leave no trace," she said to the templar as we approached.

"I don't know if you have to be as tidy as all that," Varric said rather loudly. "This is Lowtown, after all. People get suspicious when you leave a place cleaner than you found it."

Ser Varnell dropped his crate.

"Hawke!" Petrice exclaimed. Her eyes flew open wide, then narrowed as she glanced around the yard. Gamlen sat on the stairs in front of his house, drinking from a stoneware crock and looking keenly at us, but Sister Petrice could not know that he has anything to do with me. "That was the name? Do come inside."

I followed her.

"You completed your errand without incident, I trust?" she said carefully.

"I think the incident was the entire point," Varric said.

"Excuse me, I have no idea what you mean," she lied. "What happened?"

"The trail left by the mage's dead karataam led Qunari trackers straight to us," I said. "Why did you do it?"

"You return speaking their language and you can still ask that?" Sister Petrice said, bristling. "If there had been a plot, and if the Qunari had murdered you, then yes, I suppose some people may have found that convenient. It may have provoked questions about the advisability of appeasing certain guests within our city. Some might even have considered your deaths a tragic necessity."

I stared at her as the last pieces fell into place.

"But all we have now are dead Qunari and the word of a Qunari sympathizer," she said.

I opened and closed my mouth several times before I was able to frame any kind of reply.

"I want no part of your war," I said. "Pay me, and may we never meet again."

"Take your money and go, heathen!" she snapped, seizing a purse from her bodyguard and throwing it on the ground at my feet. "I shall not make the mistake of seeking help among unbelievers again. The stakes - eternity - are just too high."

I stooped, picked up the purse, and left.

"Twenty silver says we'll be seeing her again," Varric said once we had reached the cooler air of the yard.

"Maker forbid!" I breathed.

I bid the others good night and went home, troubled.

Faith was easier back in Lothering. I know that Sister Petrice does not personify the entire Kirkwall Chantry, but she is an affirmed priest. Someone somewhere must have been pleased enough with her piety to entrust her with that responsibility, and that is a sobering thought.

And now I think back to the chantry in Lothering, and I realize that I may have been blind. Mother Hannah was generous toward the poor, but she also distant. When trouble struck, be it darkspawn or a murderous Qunari, she did not seek a solution. She threw her hands in the air and called it the Maker's will. And there was that lay sister… the one who claimed to have visions. Like Petrice, her zeal was unflinching, but with it came an air that she possessed some secret knowledge that set her apart. Perhaps she did, but it served her own interests well enough. If the Maker ever does return, He will probably be horrified by the things that were done in His name.

I will have plenty of time to think on this (and upon more personal matters) in the weeks ahead. The coin Sister Petrice gave us put us well over fifty sovereigns. The Deep Roads await!


	37. Chapter 37: Bon Voyage

9:30 Dragon, 10 Cloudreach: A camp in the wilderness, somewhere in the Free Marches

The Hangover was inevitable, I suppose. We needed one last evening together before the expedition left, all of us. At least I was able to complete my errands before insanity struck.

We found Varric's brother, Bartrand, at his usual spot in the Dwarven Merchant's Guild. Varric must not have warned him that he was recruiting a third partner. He was completely blindsided. I might have felt sorry about putting him on the spot, were he not so scornful about it. But Varric had been right. Bartrand was not too proud to take our money, nor was he too self-reliant to accept Anders's maps. While we were there, we met a pair of truly lovely dwarves, Bodahn and his son, Sandal. Bodahn has had a long history as a sutler, he told me, and even knew my cousin, but that is not why I will remember them. He was possibly the most affable person I have ever met, and his pride in his son's accomplishments was inspiring. The boy seems to have some idiosyncrasies, but Bodahn seemed more focused on his expertise than on his limitations. It's unworthy of me, but I can't help but wish that Mother could meet him.

After that, we bought provisions. The expedition would be well supplied, Varric said, but Anders advised that each of us should carry a few days' food and water on us at all times. He said that one never knew when a cave-in or misdirection might separate us from the group. In light of that bit of wisdom, even Varric invested in some emergency rations. Evidently, loyalty does not necessarily include faith in my sense of direction. I cannot blame him. I bought more than he did.

After we stocked up on consumables, the day was ours. I couldn't face a journey with an uncertain end without saying my goodbyes, so I made my rounds, calling on Fenris and Aveline in Hightown, and Merrill in Low, our party growing larger as we went. Carver made a bit of a spectacle of himself in the last stop, actually taking off his tunic to show Merrill his mabari tattoo. He was rewarded with her undivided attention, and a lot of poking and stroking of said tattoo, but also of the bulky musculature that elves apparently lack. He was sweating profusely by the time Merrill withdrew enough to let him get his shirt back on. I can understand his discomfort, but he had only himself to blame. And I think he was flattered, despite the jests Aveline and Fenris made at his expense throughout the remainder of the evening. Or what I remember of it.

I drank freely, goaded by Isabela, but confident in the knowledge that I could crawl home if I had to. It almost came to that.

There may have been dancing at one point. I vaguely remember stepping on Aveline's feet and getting my nose wedged in Isabela's bosom, possibly with Varric's help, but if I did anything regrettable, no one mentioned it at the bon voyage breakfast this morning.

I wondered if it was really necessary to celebrate my departure with such enthusiasm, but perhaps it was. Isabela will land on her feet no matter which way the wind tosses her, but I worry about Fenris and Merrill. Seeing them with high spirits before I left did not lessen my cares about their financial future, but it did reassure me that they would not be pining away in my absence.

My goodbyes with Mother were less satisfying.

She showed her usual cunning about it, too. I expected tearful farewells at home, but she astonished me with her composure. She patted my cheek and wished me off with the Maker's guidance and Andraste's protection, but that was not the last I saw of her. She arrived at the Dwarven Merchant's Guild just as the last crates were secured in the wagons.

"Excuse me, ser dwarf," she called to Bartrand from across the square, "but I must speak with my children."

"What's this, Varric?" he huffed. "Is this some other partner you didn't tell me about?"

A hurried conference followed. Mother wanted Carver to remain behind. She claimed that she was concerned about his safety, but I cannot help wondering if she was simply afraid of being alone. She timed her appeal perfectly so that every stranger in the expedition could witness it, and she utilized every weapon in her arsenal of manipulation from guilt to obligation, but I remained resolute. Carver is as much a part of this as I am, and he deserves as much of an opportunity to make a name for himself as I do. On a purely selfish level, I could not face the prospect of a journey into the unknown without him, in any case. Even if he were not one of the most skilled warriors I know, I could not do without his loyalty… or his contrariness.

Carver, of course, seemed torn between outrage that I would even consider such a thing and resentment that it was my decision to make. At least my answer pleased him, even if it did not please Mother.

Bartrand was unimpressed by her display. Every moment spent in hand-wringing was a moment we did not have to reach our destination, and wagons move slowly.

It was dark when we reached the spot marked on Anders's map though we had crossed no more than fifteen miles. Bartrand was all for off-loading the wagons and beginning the portage into the caverns right away, but the rest of us wanted one more night under the open sky.

"We're finally doing it, brother," Carver said as we lay back in the grass and watched the stars dance overhead.

"Was there ever any doubt?" I replied. One of the porters had brought a fiddle and some of the men had struck up an impromptu reel. The music relaxed me and made me think of the fairs in Lothering. I had hovered on the edges of those, too, once the produce and livestock were sold, listening, but never participating in the merry-making.

"You don't want to know," he said. We stared at the stars some more, until he said at last, "It will be Bloomingtide soon. We always had a fair then, back in Lothering. Were you going to ask anyone to partner you, that last Summerday?"

"Who would I ask?" I said, but without bitterness. "No one in Lothering even knew I existed."

"I don't know about that," he said. He lay still for a moment, then got up to rummage around in the pack he used for a pillow.

"Maybe you'd better read this," he said, thrusting a much-creased letter at me.

I sat up and conjured a glow sphere. Now that we were truly outside Kirkwall, there was no real need to pretend I wasn't a mage.

The letter he handed me was intriguing and appalling at the same time. In it, a girl named Peaches begged Carver to intercede with me for her, saying how she saw me smile at her at a fair once and was eager to befriend me. _Peaches._ No wonder he laughed when I named my mabari.

"I never knew," I said.

"Why would you?" he shrugged. "I never told you. You were busy with Father, and then with one thing and another, I forgot."

"You forgot?"

"Alright, no secrets. I didn't want you to know. Your head was big enough already."

"My head?"

"You were so proud of yourself, getting top prize for that sow you raised, and getting the barn roofed -"

"Which I couldn't have done without your help, and I thanked you for it at the time."

"I know," he said bitterly. "I just wanted one thing that was mine. One thing for me. You had the farm to take credit for, and your magic, and everybody said you were such a good son, keeping up the place after Father died. I couldn't beat you at that, but at least I could be better with the ladies."

"You would have been even if you had shown me the letter," I said. "I've never been smooth enough to be popular. Or is there more correspondence in that pack of yours?"

"No, just that. I guess I just didn't want you to get to know any of them."

"But it's alright now?"

"We're a long way from Lothering," he said.

I returned the letter and sat still for a few moments, processing what he had just told me. I wanted to be angry with him, but I was not.

"We're a long way from Lothering," I agreed.

"No hard feelings?" he asked.

"No hard feelings," I said. "What was she like, Peaches?"

"The letter pretty much sums it up. I was doing you a favor. You'd never fall for a girl like that."

"But you did?"

"Not really," Carver said, leaning back on one elbow. "She was alright. You… uh… probably don't want the details."

"Probably not, no," I said, smiling inwardly at Carver's darkening cheeks.

"You didn't really sleep with Madam Lusine, did you?" Carver asked.

"No, I didn't."

"So you've never…"

"I don't know," I said. "At this point, I probably have to say that I have, but it's complicated."

"You aren't still on about that tart across the yard, are you?" he snorted.

"Macha? No, not her. I met an artist in the Gallows -"

"The Gallows! Are you mad?"

"Evidently. As I said, it's complicated. We… did some things that probably count. And he did some things."

"What?" Carver rolled onto his side to look at my profile.

"Things. You don't want to hear about it."

He sat up again.

"Iain, did he hurt you?"

"I… don't know. I mean, no. I'm fine." And for a few moments, I believed it. My brother may not have had any idea what I was talking about, but to me, it felt like a confession. For the first time since I arrived in the Gallows that terrible day, I felt clean, almost weightless.

"Are you sure?" he asked, nudging closer until his arm touched my shoulder. "Because if you aren't, I'm going to find him and then I'm going to kill him."

"I'm sure," I said. How strange it was that Carver should be the one person I could talk to. Not sensitive, empathetic Anders or steadfast, unflinching Aveline. Carver, who has considered me his rival since he was old enough to care what people thought of him. Maybe there's peace in the knowledge that a brother will support you regardless of whether he likes you or not.

"Hope you brought a lot of those books," Varric said just now. He has a point. I did bring several empty journals, in fact, but I do not want to fill them all before we find whatever it is Bartrand's looking for. Perhaps it is time to put out the lamp and enjoy the last few moments of starlight before we descend into the darkness.


End file.
